


Inclined to Do the Forbidden

by inbarati



Series: The Wayward Magister [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blushing, Bondage, Complete, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Praise Kink, Size Kink, damaged people in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 94,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3159329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbarati/pseuds/inbarati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world will never be safe enough for this. Dorian would like to be a bad man, but he's never given the opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dorian Pavus is not much given to people-watching as a pastime. He generally prefers the company of books. And yet, here he is, standing in the fucking snow, no less, watching the Herald of Andraste run to and fro around Haven. In spite of the snow, Dorian finds himself forgetting the hardship. The Herald cuts quite the imposing figure. He is tall, and broad-shouldered, he smiles easily and often, which is not at all what Dorian had expected when he learned the much maligned survivor of the Conclave was Qunari. Dorian peeks around the back of the cabin he has been assigned as living quarters, watching the Herald speak with Varric. The conversation appears to turn serious part way though, but ends with mutual smiles. The Herald looks toward the cabins, but doesn’t see Dorian. He straightens, though, and starts to walk in Dorian’s direction, so he moves to take a slightly less obviously spying position in front of the cabin. The Herald stops to speak with Solas - making even the dour elf smile - and to drop off some papers with the herbalist. Dorian waits patiently to see if he himself would now be a stop on the Herald’s rounds.  
  
The answer is clearly yes. The Herald shoots a warm smile in his direction, and settles on the edge of a crate of supplies nearby, obviously settling in for a decently long conversation. “Herald,” Dorian says, before the other can speak. Owning the floor like the scion of House Pavus should. Even if the floor in question is packed, dirty snow. “To what do I owe this distinct pleasure?” He smirks for emphasis.  
  
“Please. Call me Adaar. I find the title, well ...weird, to be honest.” Indeed. Dorian can see the discomfort all over his face and in the slight tension in the arms folded over his chest. His face is oddly beautiful, for a Qunari. Tal-Vashoth no less, if Dorian’s sources are correct. His manners, while far from the refinement of Minrathous standards, are not what Dorian had been led to expect either. He was expecting someone a bit more like the Iron Bull, to be honest.  
  
He doesn’t say any of that. He lets the smirk relax into a smile. “Adaar, then. Is there some way I can be of service to the Inquisition?”  
  
The Herald - Adaar, smiles again. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “I just thought I should get to know you, since we’re going to be working together.” He shifts slightly, his hips aligning with Dorian’s, crossing his legs at the ankle, letting the crates take more of his weight. Dorian swallows and crosses his arms. “You seem pretty critical of your homeland.” He raises a shoulder - half a shrug. “I have some sympathy for that.” His smile goes a little crooked.  
  
Dorian decides to go on the offensive. “So you _are_ Tal-Vashoth. I expected something a little... different.” He echoes the half shrug, trying mitigate what might sound like an accusation. He doesn’t let the surprise show on his face when Adaar chuckles.  
  
“More pillaging, burning and general destruction?” He laughs again. “I suppose I’m not that kind of Tal-Vashoth.” He favors Dorian with a wide grin, showing strangely perfect teeth.  
  
Dorian senses a story there. “Well, I suppose I’m grateful, then.” He laughs, too. Apparently it’s contagious. “Especially with the size of the fireballs I’ve seen you throw. You’re a mage? But you’re not collared and sewn up. Your parents then?”  
  
Adaar nods, smile melting from his face with a swiftness that makes Dorian want to wince in sympathy. “I showed magical talent early on. They wanted better for me.”  
  
Dorian is surprised by the honesty. He doesn’t even try not to let it show. He nods back, and changes the subject. “So why were you at the Conclave?”  
  
Adaar doesn’t smile again, yet, but his face lightens. “I was hired as private security for the representative the mages sent. I ran a merc crew, had a reputation for being sympathetic. I was actually lost when I opened the door. I was looking for the food.” His smile is crooked, but it exists, so Dorian takes it as a win.  
  
And suddenly he sees how Adaar is doing it. Why the right and left hand of the Divine, templars, mages, dwarves, elves, humans - why they followed him right up to the edge of the breach. A Qunari who doesn’t even believe in the Maker, with his heart pinned to his sleeve for all the world to see. It’s a strange sort of purity that Adaar has. It’s alien in barbaric Ferelden. It would be even more alien in Orlais and he’d be made tranquil just for stepping on Tevinter soil, Dorian is sure. The fact that Adaar seems entirely unaware that his emotional honesty is as rare as royal elfroot just makes it all the more compelling. “So you support free mages, then? Well that will make the southern mages a little more like the ones back home.”  
  
“As long as the ones back home are like you.” Adaar grins at him again.  
  
“No one is quite like me,” Dorian flings back, covering the melting of his heart with bravado. Adaar asks him some more questions, largely about Tevinter and his place in it. Dorian lets his smart mouth go on autopilot. Adaar asks his questions gently and flirts wildly. Dorian tries not to be smitten.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, Dorian knows he has failed utterly when he follows Adaar to a place called the Fallow Mire. It has Mire right there, in the name. Dorian should have politely declined, but the scouts had returned with news of strange glyphs and Adaar had said please. Adaar had picked the group carefully, excluding Sera or Vivienne, who seem to viscerally dislike him, in favor of the more easygoing members of his inner circle. Varric rarely stops talking, telling story after story, and the Iron Bull, who has a somewhat distressing tendency to make perverse jokes, but refuses to get angry with Dorian, even when Dorian baits him. “I’m a mage, wouldn’t you prefer me bound and leashed?”

 

Bull actually pauses to look Dorian up and down in a way that should probably make him feel unclean. “I’d buy you dinner first,” he says, mildly.

 

“Before or after you sew my mouth shut?” Dorian has never been particularly good at controlling his tongue.

 

“Depends on how soon you stop yapping.” Bull ends the conversation by walking away. Dorian, feeling a little warmer, doesn’t notice that Adaar has left them behind, scouting further down the trail.

 

Bull continues the somewhat friendly jibes as he chafes his nearly frostbitten feet at the fire that night, but he also directs them at the local scouts, Varric and even Adaar, so Dorian discounts them. “No slaves around to rub your footsies?”

 

Dorian would complain about being infantilised, but really all the can think about is how cold he is, and after one last bitter complaint about the wet and the cold, he turns in.

 

Back in Haven, after they’ve saved their missing patrol, and Adaar has proven that his sincerity can put even Avar barbarians on his side, Dorian returns to his quarters to find a pair of boots he’s never seen before sitting on his bed. They are lined with druffalo fur and have been treated with some sort of oil to make them waterproof. Best of all, when he puts them on, he discovers they have been enchanted. His feet are warm for the first time since he entered Ferelden. He puts his old boots aside, despite the crack in the sole. He doesn’t yet know what the new boots will cost, but there’s nothing to prevent him from enjoying them tonight.

 

He sleeps with them on. He’ll figure out where they came from in the morning.

 

In the morning it becomes obvious the boots came from Adaar. He doesn’t exactly avoid Dorian, he’s just careful not to be alone with him. Dorian lets it go. He should give the boots back. He’s not exactly in a position to owe anyone anything, but Adaar doesn’t appear to want gratitude. Dorian lets the Herald avoid him for the rest of the day, but sits next to him at breakfast before they head to the Western Approach on yet another mission the next morning, wearing the boots, and aggressively doesn’t mention them.

 

Varric destroys that plan nearly immediately, sliding onto the bench across from them. “Those are nice boots, Sparkler.”

 

“Yes, they are,” Dorian replies airily. “Pass the biscuits, please.” He knows he’s won when Adaar covers his smile with a mug of tea. He puts some buckthorn jam on his biscuit and tries not to be smug as he eats it.

 

Varric clearly knows something is going on, but being the wise dwarf that he is, he says nothing of it. “So, Sparkler, did you leave a wife or some little magelets running around back in Tevinter?”

 

“Fortunately not, much to my family’s displeasure.” Dorian affects a carefree wave of his hand.

 

“Had someone all lined up, did they?” Varric raises an eyebrow at him, and Dorian smiles.

 

“Oh yes. She’s rather glad I left, I imagine.” He takes another bite of his biscuit. Adaar has finished his tea, but not left the table. It occurs to Dorian that this conversation might be for Adaar’s benefit, but he can’t for the life of him imagine why Adaar would care in the slightest about his life back in Tevinter. Even if he did, he could just ask. Dorian had been quite forthcoming in response to his other questions. He filed those thoughts to return to later, when he had more information.

Varric just looks at him expectantly. Dorian pours him some tea in lieu of attempting to explain that mess. Varric gives him half the apple he’s been peeling and doesn’t press. Dorian decides he really likes Varric, and they finish breakfast with gossip about the upcoming ball at Halamshiral.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Alexius’s letter, inviting them to discuss the Redcliffe mages, comes that afternoon. Dorian has a bad feeling about it all, which is unfortunate, because it would reflect terribly on him if he ran as far away as he could just now, wouldn’t it? He does his best to convey that his vague sense of foreboding probably has more behind it than the vagueness would imply. “I can’t tell you precisely what Alexius is up to, because he hasn’t seen fit to inform me. Not knowing the particulars of his plan doesn’t mean I don’t know him however. This invitation reeks of a trap, Adaar. It’s not safe.”

Adaar smiles at him. “Since when is anything I do safe, Dorian?” He squeezes Dorian’s shoulder. It’s odd how little it takes to make him feel warmer. “Knowing it’s a trap means we can put some contingency plans in place, though. Thank you.”

Dorian sighs and watches Adaar head to the War Table. It’s probably just that anything feels warmer when it’s so cold.

They head to Redcliffe before daybreak the next day. Dorian is practically asleep on his horse until midday. He wakes up enough to eat and fend off Bull’s mockery. It starts to snow and Dorian stares balefully at the sky. When they stop in the small crossroads village for the night, he’s beyond grateful, huddling close to the fire, chilled to the bone, even with his lovely boots. Adaar must be meeting with someone, because he doesn’t make it to dinner. The cold has even gotten to the Iron Bull, who forgets to jibe him about slaves to rub his footsies in favor of sitting close to the fire with an extra saddle blanket around his shoulders. Dorian has enough sympathy for his misery that he doesn’t say anything, just favors him with a nod and a small smile when he heads to his bedroll.

In the morning there’s a heavy cloak on his door. He’s not surprised when Adaar avoids his gaze at breakfast. He keeps the cloak on, and says nothing, though he squeezes Adaar’s shoulder, feeling a bit rebellious. Breakfast is a little less grim. Bull has a shirt on, but he’s back to perverse jokes and ribald jibes. The weather has them starting later, so Dorian feels more awake, and the banter seems less cutting today. “Better hike up that skirt, mage boy,” the Iron Bull smirks at him.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “It’s not a skirt.” He folds the cloak over his arm so it won’t drag in the mud, anyway.

“I’m not going to kiss it better if you trip on that bustling thing.” Bulls eyes glance off his lips.

Bolstered by the warmth of the cloak perhaps, Dorian returns the volley boldly, “Ah, but you wish I would let you.” He swings his leg over the horse with a little more style than he ordinarily would, punctuation to the brag.

Bull looks him up and down, grinning, but doesn’t reply. Dorian just rolls his eyes again.

***

Redcliffe is all dirty snow and the smell of wet dog. Dorian will be happy to get this over with and go back to the heat of the Approach, or maybe Emerald Graves. It was so pretty there. He found the trees calming, not that he would ever say that. Dorian sighed. Mind on the mission, he reminds himself. He watched Leliana whisper with her agents as everyone stabled their horses and readied themselves.

For a moment as they begin the discussion, Dorian thinks his fear might be unfounded. That the agents hiding in the shadows will be unnecessary, and Alexius will get on a boat and go home. And then, of course, everything goes to shit. Dorian sees the amulet just before it’s too late, blasting it out of Alexius’s hand and the next thing he knows he’s trying not to drown in knee-high water. Once he’s overcome the vertigo and sat up, he makes sure Adaar’s face isn’t under the water and that he’s still breathing. The shock of temporal displacement might put him out for a moment or two more. He looks around the room. Red lyrium is sprouting from everywhere. There’s a desk in the corner. The papers don’t appear to be important.

Adaar stirs. Dorian goes to help him up. “I’m fairly certain we’ve jumped in time. I worked with Alexius on the theory for the amulet he had. I never thought he’d be foolish enough to make it, let alone use it repeatedly like this. I couldn’t be sure, before.”

Adaar searches his face for a moment, then smiles sadly. He looks around the room. “Where are we?” He begins to investigate the room, much like Dorian had.

“I believe this is the basement of Redcliffe Castle. There’s a lot of red lyrium here, so I’d surmise we’ve jumped forward. How far I can’t say.”

“We need to find out what happened.” Adaar muses, listening at the door for a moment before motioning to Dorian to step back. There’s clearly someone coming.

And they just as clearly weren’t expecting Dorian and the Herald. They are not very well trained. They aren’t templars. Dorian wonders if Alexius even knows what happened. They clear the next room quickly. The Iron Bull is in the cells beyond, singing. “The hundred bottles of beer on the wall, three hundred bottles of beer, take one down and pass it around...” Adaar’s smile melts away when Bull turns around, though. His eyes are the same strange, glowing red as the lyrium sprouting from the wall of his cell. The Iron Bull looks at them angrily. “You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead. There was a burn on the ground and everything.”

Dorian tries to explain as briefly as possible. “We’re not dead. Alexius sent us forward in time. This is our future.”

Bull isn’t swayed. “Well, this is my present, and I definitely saw you both die.” His voice is angry, but his expression is sad.

“We’re no more dead than you are, Bull, “ Adaar interjects. “And if we can get to Alexius, we might be able to stop this from happening.”

“Dead’s kind of relative in this case, boss. They’re using us to grow the lyrium. I don’t think we’re supposed to survive it. They guy they carried out of here last week sure didn’t. And Alexius isn’t the worst thing around here. It’s his Elder One you should be worried about. Killed the Empress, demon army, the works.”

“Well, shit.” Adaar’s shoulders slump a little.

“We’re stuck here if we don’t try.” Dorian reminds him. Adaar nods and squeezes his shoulder. Dorian takes the lead on the way out.

They find Varric in the next room, humming something to himself. Dorian’s more unnerved by how calm he seems than he was by Bull’s anger. “Andraste’s sacred knickers you’re alive,” is about as excited as he gets. Dorian gives him the same brief explanation, and Varric gives much the same sketch of the events they missed.

“We can go back and fix this,” Adaar says. “We have to fix this.”

Varric chuckles, “Either you’re crazy or I am, but if you want to fight, I’m in.”


	4. Chapter 4

Leliana is angry, grim and nearly skeletal when they find her. She leads them to Alexius. Compared to what Dorian had expected, Alexius doesn’t put up much of a fight. Adaar wants to follow Bull and Varric out to hold back the demon army, and Dorian has to physically pull him into the portal when Leliana takes an arrow to the shoulder.

Back in Redcliffe, everyone is still alive. It’s a matter of moments before Alexius is taken into custody, all his bodyguards dead. Alexius’s son, Felix, who had helped him warn the Inquisition in the first place, seems resigned. He has the Blight. All of this has been because his father could never face losing him.

Dorian pretends he doesn’t feel that particular knife twist. He wishes Felix well as he boards a ship back to their home. Whatever he might have felt for Felix, going home will never be an option for him again. He’d relinquish all his feelings about both Felix and his his home to the ocean if he could. As it is, he lets the man leave with a witty quip and wave. He doesn’t acknowledge the dreamed of future that drowns in the waves the boat is putting between them. 

 

Everyone but Dorian seems surprised when Adaar declares the mages allies. Only Solas and Varric seem pleased. Cassandra is fuming. Dorian imagines Cullen, former templar that he is, will be even less pleased. He returns to the inn in time for supper, but goes to his room instead. He isn’t hungry anyway. There’s a knock on his door an hour later. Dorian tries not to stumble or trip over the empty wine bottle he seems to have left on the floor. He fumbles with the catch. It’s slightly possible he’s overdone his cups this evening. There’s a tray with a covered plate on the floor. Dorian looks down the hallway, but there’s no trace of Adaar. Dorian smiles a little and shakes his head, scooting the tray into his room with his foot, knowing full well he’s too uncoordinated to pick it up. He shuts the door and sits just inside it, sliding down the wall; ungraceful in a way he’d never be in public. He does eat some of the food on the plate, washing it down with more wine, before he crawls into bed with his boots still on.

***

Adaar is distant as they head back to Haven. Less so with Dorian than with everyone else, which makes both Cullen and Cassandra a bit crankier than usual. Dorian tries to explain, but they clearly don’t wish to hear it. Bull squeezes his shoulder and offers him a sweet. Dorian waves it off. “Good thing I didn’t come here to make friends,” he says to no one in particular. 

“You did anyway, Sparkler,” Varric says, putting two mugs of something hot and smelling of spices and alcohol into his hands. “Now go take care of him. He won’t let anyone else near him.”

Dorian takes the mugs, but stops, without turning to face Varric. “Varric?”

He can feel Varric looking up at him. “Hmm?” His fingers are busy with an oiled rag, cleansing his beloved contraption.

“Thank you.” He slowly starts for where Adaar is sitting, careful not to spill the steaming mugs.

“Anytime, Sparkler,” the warmth of a smile colors Varric’s tone, and Dorian smiles to himself as he carefully makes his way toward Adaar.

He hands Adaar a mug and sits beside him, folding his legs and sinking to the ground in a smooth motion. He sips the liquid, some kind of hot, alcohol-infused spiced cider. It’s actually delicious, probably the best thing he’s tasted since he left Tevinter, and he lets his eyes close in pleasure as he takes another sip. The warmth curls its way through his limbs, and he sighs in pleasure, Adaar is watching him when he opens his eyes. “Do try it, it’s rather good,” he quips. He takes another drink. Adaar does, and then sit in silence for a time, sipping. Dorian wracks his brain, trying to come up with something witty and clever to say that will make what they saw easier somehow, but he really just can’t. Adaar knows his friends would die for him. Did, in some future they will hopefully never see now. Dorian can’t make that burden easier to carry. 

Not in the least because he has the horrific suspicion he might be one of those friends.

He decides to emulate Adaar’s gentle honesty and see if he can make it work for him. “Is there anything I can do?” He watches Adaar’s face out of the corner of his eye, pretending to gaze mournfully into his now empty mug.

Adaar shakes his head. “I just... can’t make them understand. I told Leliana she died for me back there and she just...” Adaar’s face twists in pain and frustration, “she said of course she did. Like that’s in any way normal.” He sets the mug aside. “I can’t explain. But you were there, so I don’t need to.”

Dorian nods and squeezes Adaar’s arm. “I’ll stay close,” he replies, turning it into a question with the quirk of his eyebrow. Adaar just smiles gratefully. Dorian starts to talk. Mostly about Tevinter, because that’s what he knows. Adaar relaxes a little when he realizes Dorian isn’t going to pry and starts to ask questions. “So curious, Herald. It’s a good thing my parents drilled me into being a walking repository of Tevinter history, otherwise, whatever would we talk about?”

Adaar chuckles, shoving his shoulder a little, playfully. Dorian grins. Adaar puts a hand on his, and Dorian is suddenly certain the fire has gotten closer. That must account for the blush he’s sure is on his cheeks. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with.”

“Well of course not. I’m a talented mage, charming, well dressed... What’s not to like?” He turns his hand, wrapping it carefully around Adaar’s larger one.

Adaar looks at their joined hands and squeezes Dorian’s gently. “I’m lucky you decided to come to barbaric South.”

“I was worried they’d eventually succeed in marrying me off.” He’s actually finding it more difficult to be glib with only one hand free. How odd.

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” Adaar’s thumb traces his knuckles.

“I can do more for Tevinter here. The Venatori cannot be allowed to win. Not to mention a giant hole in the sky that threatens all of Thedas. Tevinter included. Besides I’d hardly be welcomed back with open arms. My parents wanted me to marry and I refused, and my work with the Inquisition won’t be seen warmly, either. I’m used to being a pariah, though. It adds to my charm.” He pins a smirk to the end of the sentence with an airy hand wave.

Adaar hesitates, searching for words. “And... after? If we’re alive, that is.”

This is close to emotional territory Dorian would rather not traverse tonight, but Adaar deserves an answer. “For all its faults, Tevinter has virtues. My people care, deeply, about everything. All appearances to the contrary, of course. We work tirelessly to preserve our history. We have no reserve, in love or in war. If I truly felt my homeland was irredeemable, I wouldn’t be so unhappy about it.” Dorian smiles sadly, letting some of how exhausting it is to feel so conflicted show. He shouldn’t. He’d meant to keep his head down. No one in the South was what he expected them to be. The Herald, least of all.

Adaar doesn’t reply. What could he say? He doesn’t let go of Dorian’s hand, and Dorian doesn’t either. Dorian moves closer and throws the cloak over both their shoulders once the sun goes down, leaching what little warmth the daylight brought. Still, neither of them move toward a bedroll. Sleep is unlikely to be restful anyway. Adaar apparently allows himself only the night to mourn friends or innocence, and at first light he slips from under Dorian’s cloak and puts a finger over his lips, slipping into the shadows and returning from what Dorian had assumed was his morning necessities with four large, fat birds. Dorian’s not familiar with the breed, but Adaar seems pleased. Dorian builds up the fire while Adaar deftly cleans the birds, skinning them in lieu of plucking they don’t have time for, and by the time the sun is fully up, Adaar has put together a simple stew on the fire.

“A mage, a hunter, the Herald of Andraste, AND a tolerable cook? You’ll never be rid of me now,” Dorian grins at him.

“Good.” Adaar crumbles some hardtack into a bowl and spoons some of the stew over it. Dorian opens his mouth to ask what in the Maker’s name he meant by that, but stops when people start to rouse and head for the fire. He sighs his most put upon sigh, and grabs his own breakfast.


	5. Chapter 5

Adaar insists on going straight to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The mages are more than happy to oblige. No one is comfortable with the hole in the sky. Adaar gets Solas to direct the mages, Cullen and Cassandra with the troops in case there are demons and keeps Varric, the Iron Bull, and Dorian with him. In the end it’s a little anticlimactic. No demons, though the ground shakes, and Adaar falls to his knees. The Breach is closed. Dorian and Bull help Adaar from the field amid cheering. Dorian feels more worried than relieved. Adaar can’t keep to his horse, too exhausted to sit upright, but insists they can go back to Haven immediately. Cassandra clears the contents of a supply wagon, and a healer rides with him. Dorian rides close to the wagon, though he has no skill in healing to speak of. Bull stays close to him. Varric rides with the wagon driver. Everyone else seems jubilant, buoyed by the win. Those closest to Adaar are quieter. Solas occasionally climbing into the wagon while Adaar dozes to check on him. Dorian feels the antagonism between himself and the Elven mage dissolve slightly when Solas informs him that the mark has stopped growing, leaving him to tell the rest of the group. Dorian’s sincere gratitude seems to melt Solas a bit too. Dorian smiles to himself as they ride.

Adaar is up and about enough to make an appearance at the night’s festivities. He hasn’t made his way to Dorian yet when the torches appear on the mountainside over Haven. They run to the gate. There is a boy there, carrying Chancellor Roderick. The boy appears unhurt, but Chancellor Roderick likely will not last the night. Adaar sends everyone but Dorian, Bull and Sera back to the gather everyone into the Chantry. The small group goes to head off the templars attacking the trebuchets. Varric nudges him. “Ten silver says at least one of these arseholes farts fire.”

Dorian laughs, startling the guards arming the trebuchet. “Make it twenty, I’ll win either way.”

It turns out that Chancellor Roderick knows a way to escape from under the chantry. Which is good, because there’s a dragon, and a huge lyrium filled magister. When Adaar tells them to run, they do. Dorian doesn’t look back, because he knows if he does, he’ll be there for Corypheus to use as leverage. He doesn’t lean on Bull as they stumble through the tunnels and into the snow, but it’s a near thing. They gather up the stragglers as they go. They camp. Dorian doesn’t sleep. He watches the wall of swirling snow, willing Adaar to stride through it. There’s another miserable march the next day, and the one after that. Dorian refuses to let himself believe the Herald is still in the ruins of Haven. He outfits himself to go out into the snow and search. To his utter shock, Cassandra suits up to go with him. Bull, too. they search the snowy wasteland beyond the camp. Dorian pushes forward. Cassandra roams far to his left. Bull stays close, slightly to his right. Dorian is about to give up, heart sunken in his chest when Cassandra gives a shout. Dorian nearly bowls himself over barrelling through the snow.. Bull catches him by the scruff of his neck and rights him so he can keep running.The Inquisitor has collapsed in the snow. Bull picks him up, carrying him back to the camp. A silence falls as everyone watches them hand their Herald over to the healers.

Doran hasn’t prayed in a very long time, but he kneels near his bedroll before getting into it that night, starting a prayer that continues throughout the night. Pleading with the Maker to spare this one. He’ll go back to Tevinter if Adaar lives. Once this fight is over. He’ll go back, and make Tevinter better. Just let Adaar live.

Adaar is awake later that night. His appearance puts an end to the bickering that had been ongoing since they left Haven. Mother Giselle begins to sing, and slowly, but surely, everyone in camp joins her. Dorian isn’t familiar with this particular hymn, which must be southern, but most with them are. He’s close enough to Cullen to be surprised by his lovely singing voice. Dorian doesn’t know the words, but he can feel the sense of unity as an almost physical force. Cullen claps him on the shoulder. Adaar and Solas wander off with their heads together. Dorian moves closer to the fire. Bull brings a bottle of something terrible and Ferelden, but alcoholic and offers Dorian some. Dorian is too tired and too grateful to push him away, and they sit in companionable silence, drinking, until Adaar and Solas return.

They have a plan, but there is a journey. They begin marching in the morning. Dorian hates the snow, but he marches in it anyway, saving the horses for the injured. Adaar ranges far ahead, some knowledge spurring him forward. He clearly has a destination in mind. Occasionally, he consults with Solas. They spend the nights looking at the stars and making charts.

On the third night, Roderick dies. Adaar arranges a pyre. Many of the soldiers and chantry folk help to build it. Dorian supposes he should be more grateful, as they’d likely all be buried under Haven if the Chancellor hadn’t shown them the way out. Dorian drinks until he can sleep through the roar of the pyre and the singing and Adaar’s distance as he searches for something only he and Solas seem sure he’ll find. The Iron Bull becomes his shadow, bringing him food when he would ignore his hunger, bottles with water or wine or some Ferelden concoction when he finds or trades for them. Dorian pretends ingratitude, but Bull doesn’t stop. They travel another ten sunsets, stumbling on a fortress on the dawn of the fourteenth day.

“Skyhold.” Solas announces as Adaar strikes ahead, crossing the bridge before Cassandra or Bull can catch up, the first to step into the empty fortress. Dorian feels a stirring - something unlike he has felt before. He looks to Solas, who is passive, but smiling. Adaar turns to everyone who has stopped on the bridge, smiling brilliantly. “Welcome home, my friends.” 

There’s a bustle of activity as everyone else enters the fortress. It’s startlingly lovely, and surprisingly intact. Dorian watches Adaar closely. He seems tired, but he’s waiting for something. Cullen, Josephine and Leliana stand on a staircase landing and look expectantly at him. He climbs up to them, but looks confused when they hand him an ornate sword. There’s a discussion, and then Adaar raises the sword. “I do this as a Qunari, and a mage, for all of Thedas,” he tells the assembled crowd, and Dorian smiles. Of course he’s using the reasons people distrust him to unify them. Even the normally reserved ambassador, Josephine gets caught up in the cheering. The Herald is now the Inquisitor.

As more refugees filter into Skyhold, the library is busier than it was in Haven. Dorian defends his alcove viciously, and the other mages learn to keep their distance. Adaar’s visits cause a ripple of whispering every time. Dorian bristles. Adaar is no more frequent a visitor than the boy, or boy shaped spirit who appeared at the gates to warn them, Cole, really, and the conversations are oddly similar. Cole trying to understand humanity through Dorian’s pain, and Adaar - well, whatever it is he wants, they look remarkably similar on the surface. Both of them trying to fix him, but doing it so carefully, without ever trying to change him, that he can’t bring himself to resent either of them. In return, he turns Cole’s cast-off wardrobe into something presentable. With more cast-offs and some judicious tailoring, since his circumstances don’t allow him to simply buy the boy a decent wardrobe. And there’s simply nothing Dorian can do about the hat, since Cole insists on wearing it. But his clothes become less ragged, and the boy almost cuts a fine figure. “You should really try to eat a little, Cole. I know Solas brought you some of those little cakes the last time we went to Val Royeaux.”

“Eugh,” Cole makes a disgusted face. “I gave them to an Elven girl, in the kitchen. It was her birthday, but no one remembered. The cakes made her smile all day. She only ate one. She gave the rest to her friends. And to Krem. She fancies him. He didn’t know it was her birthday, but later, he brought her flowers. Giving her the flowers made both of them happy. Sharing the cake made her happy. Is that why you give me clothes, Dorian?”

Dorian smiles. “Is that why you leave wooden animals in my room for me to find?”

Cole smiles, big and happy, obviously thrilled by that answer. “Oh, yes. You do understand. I thought you might.”

Dorian goes back to reading, thinking that maybe having more mages in the library isn’t so bad. It certainly takes some of the chill out of the room.

If only his interactions with Adaar were so simple.


	6. Chapter 6

As if wishing for simplicity could make complications arise, Dorian feels eyes on him shortly after Cole disappears to wherever he goes when he’s not peppering Dorian with questions. He looks up to find the Inquisitor standing at the top of the stairs, holding an envelope, looking uncertain. Dorian waits, not dropping his gaze, and the Inquisitor squares his shoulders and comes to the alcove. Dorian can’t imagine why he’d hesitate, so he just waits for Adaar to speak.

“Dorian... there’s a letter you need to see.” Adaar looks positively miserable.

 

Dorian can hardly stand it, so he answers flippantly, “Is it a naughty letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?”

 

Adaar looks even more miserable, if such is possible. “Not... not exactly. It’s from your father.”

 

Dorian tenses. He feels a combination of anger and panic suffuse him. What if this is the letter that forces him to go home? He doesn’t want to snap at Adaar, however, so he breathes in and out before he answers. “My father?” He has to pause again. Breathe in. Breathe out. “And what does Magister Halward want, praytell?”

 

Adaar can hardly look at him, holding the letter out to him, “A meeting.”

 

Dorian skims the text, in his father’s familiar hand. “I know my son?!” he fumes. “What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble! This is so typical. I’m willing to bet this retainer is a henchman. Someone my father hired to hit me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter.” His hand clenches on the paper, crumpling it.

 

Adaar smiles crookedly. “And here I’d hoped it was a Venatori plot. Is that... something your father is likely to do?” Adaar is trying to conceal how worried the idea makes him, but he’s atrociously bad at it.

 

So Dorian lies. “No. I just wouldn’t put anything past him. All the same, it... it might be best if I didn’t go alone. I know I already owe you a great deal, Inquisitor, but... will you accompany me to meet with this retainer?”

 

Adaar crosses his arms, tensing, and Dorian is grasping desperately for a witty remark that will take it all back when one of Adaar’s thick, agile fingers pokes him in the chest. “If you’re asking a favor from the _Inquisition_ , you should be aware that we’re not a charity. We’d have no chance against the Venatori without you and what’s inside that thick skull of yours. Also, the Inquisitor would likely not be here for you to ask if you hadn’t risked your life, getting in the way of magic you knew damned well was dangerous to save him, when you barely knew him, just because you thought it was the right thing to do. So the _Inquisition_ ,” Adaar pokes Dorian in the chest a second time, “would be wise to protect one of its very valuable assets. And if you’re asking me _personally_ , we can consider it even, provided you swear on those precious books of yours never to use my title to me again.”

 

Dorian’s mouth hangs open. He rarely gets a social situation quite so wrong. He wants to be defensive, but the look on Adaar’s face isn’t anger, it’s hurt. Dorian has never felt so guilty in his entire life, which is remarkable, considering how many and varied his crimes are. It’s intolerable. He puts both his hands on Adaar’s arms, where they cross. “I’m so sorry, Adaar. I... I didn’t mean - “

 

Adaar cuts him off by wrapping him into a hug. “Idiot,” Adaar breathes into his hair. “Of course I’m coming with you.”

 

Adaar’s easy forgiveness wrenches at Dorian’s heart. He just nods. “Let’s go. If it’s a trap we escape and kill everyone. You’re good at that. If it’s not we can send the retainer back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his wit’s end.” Dorian’s smile is likely more crooked than he’d like, but it’s there. He can do this.

 

Adaar gently squeezes the back of his neck and then lets go. “I’ll head to the quartermaster’s and make the arrangements for a trip to Redcliffe. Maybe Cole would like to come along? Or Bull. Or both.” Adaar smiles crookedly. “Depending on how likely and how dangerous you think the trap is.”

 

Dorian sighs, knowing his well-meaning lie has been seen through, “I’ll go ask both of them.”

They part to their separate errands, but Dorian feels Adaar’s hand on the back of his neck for hours.

***

Dorian and Adaar are riding behind the supply wagon. Cole is in the wagon with the driver, because he is a little afraid of horses still. Bull is scouting a little ways ahead, but they can still see him, waiting on a low slope ahead of them. Adaar has been quiet and contemplative, but after an hour or so of riding quietly, he turns to Dorian.

 

“So, it would seem there’s bad blood between you and your family,” he says, cautiously.

 

Dorian laughs mirthlessly. “Interesting turn of phrase. But you are correct. They don’t approve of my choices and I don’t care for theirs.”

 

“Because you didn’t want to get married? Because you left?” Adaar is searching his face, knowing Dorian is leaving something out. Intuitive bastard.

 

“That too.” Dorian knows he should come out and say it, but he can still feel the warmth of Adaar’s hand on the back of his neck, and he is loath to sully it. “I can’t believe my father’s gall. He knew exactly where I was, but heavens forfend he should come to Skyhold. Couldn’t allow his reputation to be mussed by close contact with the Inquisition. That would never do! But intrigues with southern clerics and potentially kidnapping, well that’s MUCH wiser.”

 

“At least he’s reaching out?” Adaar offers.

 

“Only because he wants to choke me!” Dorian fumes in response.

 

“I think you should at least see what he wants.”

 

Dorian snaps,“No one asked what you thought,” and regrets the words before he even finishes saying them. “I apologize. That was unworthy. Andraste’s tits, Adaar. Why do you put up with me?”

 

Adaar just grins at him. “A myriad of reasons I’m sure you’ll list for me when you’re less upset.”

 

Dorian’s returning grin is a little watery. “As you say. I’ll hear him out, but after, I want to leave. If this is some Venatori contrivance I will be utterly disappointed.” He looks away and wonders if he’d still be welcome if Adaar knew. If they’ll be making the trip back together, as he’s sure his father will delight in telling the Inquisitor exactly the kind of viper he is harboring.

***

 

The inn is deserted when they arrive. There’s not even anyone tending bar. “Hmmm. Nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well.”

 

Just then there’s a soft tread from the stair behind him, and he turns - a spell at his fingertips sputtering when he hears his father’s voice. “Dorian.”

 

“Father.” Dorian replies, hating the way his heart clenches in his chest even now, “So the story about the retainer was just, what? A smoke screen?”

 

His father takes several steps toward him and Dorian takes one back. Adaar’s hand goes to the small of his back, and Dorian knows what his father will think of the gesture, but he finds it comforting nonetheless. Adaar is a solid, implacable presence to his left and slightly behind him. “So you were told.” Father turns his gaze on Adaar, assessing. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never meant for you to be involved.”

 

Adaar stiffens, pulling himself up to his full height, a full head over the magister. It’s clear he knows exactly what Dorian’s father meant by apologizing to the Inquisitor and not to Dorian himself, and he’s furious. Dorian’s fear melts away, and suddenly he’s angry, too. “Of course not. Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think? What exactly is this, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?” He spits the last three words with all the venom he can muster, because it’s the one they both know is definitely a lie.

 

His father sighs, and again addresses the Inquisitor. “This is how it has always been.”

 

Dorian pales at that, because it’s so blatantly, painfully untrue. Adaar doesn’t fall for the ploy, however, not giving him the sympathy he was looking for. “You did all this to get him here, _Magister_. Talk to _him_.”

 

“Yes, Father. Talk to me. Let me hear how mystified you are by my anger.”

 

“Dorian, there’s no need to -” his father must realize that Adaar doesn’t know. Must somehow sense that their closeness isn’t... that of lovers. He knows Adaar doesn’t know what he did, and he’s playing the situation as if he’s a reasonable father, just trying to reach a rebellious son.

 

No. _Intolerable._ ”I prefer the company of men,” he blurts out, cutting his father off mid-sentence. “My father disapproves.”

 

“The company of men?” Adaar repeats absently. “I’m not sure I understand. Can you explain?””

 

Dorian’s anger is too close to the surface, and though he’s sure the question is innocent, he snaps, “Did I stutter? Men and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely you’ve heard of it.”

 

Adaar’s amusement bleeds into his response. “I’ve more than heard of it. No need to elaborate.”

 

That response startles a small laugh out of Dorian. “No! The Herald of Andraste? I am shocked and scandalized. Though I do feel somewhat robbed of the chance to draw you a diagram.”

 

“Such sarcasm.” Adaar is grinning down at him, and if this were Skyhold, if they were safe, Dorian would kiss him right now. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

 

“You’re very subtle for a Qunari, Inquisitor,” is what he says instead, smiling back up at him.

 

“It wasn’t exactly news from you, either. I was questioning that it was an issue in Tevinter,” Adaar needles back cheerfully.

 

“Why should it be? Why should anyone care? I don’t introduce myself that way - ‘Hello, I’m Dorian. I like men.’” He sighs dramatically. “Maybe I should start.”

 

Magister Pavus has clearly has enough. “This display is uncalled for,” he sneers at them, clearly disgusted. “I should have known that’s what this is about.”

 

Dorian wonders if it’s worse that Adaar is male, or that he’s Qunari. In an instant his anger is back at a boil. “No. You don’t get to make those assumptions. You know nothing about the Inquisitor.”

 

And just like that, he is back to trying for pity. “This is not what I wanted.”

 

“I am never what you wanted, Father.” Dorian can feel Adaar next to him. It makes having this conversation for the second time so much easier. “Or had you forgotten?” He leaves the _I certainly have not_ unspoken.

 

“All this over who you sleep with? That’s what this is about?” Adaar asks.

 

“Not _all_ it’s about.”

 

Father interrupts again. “Dorian, please. If you’ll just listen to me.”

 

“Why? So you can spout more convenient lies?” He’s still looking at his father, but he’s speaking to Adaar, now. “He taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of the weak mind.’ Those are _his_ words.” He turns away, not able to face anyone, takes a step toward the bar, just a little distance. _Breathe in. Breathe out_. “But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life?” And yet, he has to see his father’s face, to see if he has any regrets at all. He turns back. “You tried to _change_ me.” He can feel his face crumble slightly. His father is still impassive. No regret. No shame.

 

“I only wanted what was best for you,” he insists.

 

He’s already exhausted by the flux of emotions, but he feels the anger bubbling up again. “You wanted the best for _you_! For your fucking legacy! Anything for that!” He spins away, going to sit at the bar.

 

Adaar sits next to him. “We can leave if you want. But I think you’ll regret it if you do.” He squeezes Dorian’s shoulder. “You don’t have to forgive him, and I won’t let him take you.”

 

Dorian looks up at him. Adaar behaves like he’s never known fear or shame. He faces everything head on. Demons, holes in the sky, Magisters. Dorian has an entirely inappropriate moment of wondering what he’s like in bed. He feels the need to live up to the example before him, no matter how much it hurts. “All right,” he sighs.

  
“I’ll be right here.” Adaar’s hand slides from his shoulder to the back of his neck and squeezes again. It does all sorts of funny things to Dorian’s insides. He doesn’t look back as he heads to the other end of the bar to hear his father out.


	7. Chapter 7

Magister Pavus leaves, returning to Tevinter frustrated and without Dorian, who slumps dejectedly against the window, watching his father and his retinue make their way to the docks.

 

Adaar approaches carefully. “Are you all right?”

 

Dorian sighs. “No. Not really.” He should look at Adaar instead of the empty place where his father was standing a moment ago, but he can’t quite bring himself to turn around. “He said we are alike. Too much pride.” He has to concentrate to keep his face impassive. “Once... Once I’d have been overjoyed to hear him say so. Now...” he sighs. He’s just so tired. “Now I’m not so certain. I... I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

 

Adaar leans against the wall behind him, a warm presence at his back, and Dorian feels some of the stiffness leach out of him. “You don’t have to. But now you don’t have to wonder what he would say, either.” Their shoulders are nearly touching, and Dorian wants to lean into the touch, but he can’t allow himself the luxury. He’s lucky Adaar is still willing to be anywhere near him. “You said he wanted to change you. What did you mean by that?”

 

Dorian pauses a moment, collecting himself. “It was out of desperation, I suppose.” He’s surprised at how much it hurts to say out loud. “I wouldn't put on a show, marry the girl, keep everything unsavory private and locked away.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “Selfish, I suppose. Not wanting to spend my entire life screaming on the inside.” He keeps looking out the window. “He was going to do a blood ritual. Alter my mind. Make me... acceptable.” He can’t stop his voice from breaking on that last word. _Venhedis_. He used to be good at pretending to feel nothing. “I found out. I left.”

 

“Can... can blood magic actually _do_ that?” Maker love him, Adaar actually sounds shocked.

 

Dorian sighs. “Maybe.” He might as well tell the whole truth, at this point. “It could also have left me a drooling vegetable. It crushed me to think he found that absurd risk preferable to scandal. Part of me has always hoped he didn't really want to go through with it. His appearance here has disabused me of that fanciful notion, however.” He smiles sadly out the window. “If I hadn't run off, I can’t even imagine the person I would be now. I suspect I wouldn't like that Dorian.” Finally he turns, looking at Adaar. He can see pity on the Qunari’s face, but it doesn't anger him like it should. “Thank you. For bringing me here. It wasn't what I expected but... it’s something.” He’s not sure what to say about it yet. He needs time to process. “Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

 

Adaar smiles softly at him. “I don’t think less of you, Dorian. More, if that’s possible.”

 

Dorian scoffs. “The things you say.”

 

Adaar pretends to be affronted. “I mean it!”

 

Dorian gives in, and leans slightly against Adaar’s broad, muscled shoulder. “Father never understood. Living a lie. It festers inside of you like poison. You have to fight for what’s in your heart.”

 

Adaar turns, pressing Dorian back against the wall. “I agree.” He doesn't give Dorian the option of escape, claiming his mouth, the heat of him searing everywhere he touches Dorian, who melts into the kiss, barely biting back the hungry, needy sound trying to escape his throat.

 

When the kiss finally breaks, Dorian quips, “I see you enjoy playing with fire, Inquisitor,” in part to cover for the heat that has spread from his belly to be very visible in his cheeks. _Andraste’s arse_ , he doesn't blush. The whole situation is ridiculous, and could be a scene from one of Varric’s lesser novels.

 

But then there’s a knock at the door; Varric come to let them know his father’s boat has left the dock. The moment is broken. He smiles crookedly at Adaar. “At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that sort of day. My father rented the entire inn. We’d have to ask the innkeeper to see for how long, but I’m sure we can spend the night here, at least.” He grabs two bottles of something guaranteed to be foul and Ferelden and wanders off to be alone with his thoughts.

***

He wakes in the morning to find that someone has put a blanket over him in the night in the chair where he fell asleep, and put a full skin of water along with a covered plate of bread, cheese and fruit on the table in his room. One of these days, he’s going to do something very nice for the Inquisitor.

Bull and Adaar decide to scout ahead. Dorian is half asleep on his horse, hung over and wishing he could tie a scarf over his eyes to keep the brightness of the day away when Cole hops from the wagon to take his horse by the reins. It’s a testament to how truly awful he feels that he doesn’t object, just nods his thanks.

 

When Cole speaks, it’s softly, probably in deference to Dorian’s headache. “Dorian, you said I could ask you questions.”

 

It’s not quite a question, but Dorian answers anyway, after taking a drink from the water skin Cole offers him. “It’s true,” he replies with a sigh. “I did say that.”

 

“Why are you so angry at your father? He wants to help and you know he does, but...” Cole trails off, not able to frame a concept around the complicated mess that is Dorian’s feelings.

 

Dorian breathes in and out slowly before answering. He probably should have known this was coming. “...I’m not certain I can explain it to you, Cole.”

 

Cole cocks his head in an attitude of listening and is quiet for a while before he speaks, slowly. “You love him, but you're angry. They mix together, boiling in the belly until it kneads into a knot.”

 

Talking about it makes the pain more present, and Dorian tries to breathe through it. “Sometimes... sometimes love isn't enough.”

 

Cole looks positively shocked by the idea, and falls quiet. They eventually catch up to Adaar and Bull, who have started a fire, and they break to eat. Cole sits near him on one side, Adaar on the other.

 

Cole watches him take a bite, and then asks, “'Love isn't enough.' Enough what? You didn't explain, Dorian.”

 

Dorian swallows and sighs heavily before answering. “I was rather hoping I had.” He manages a crooked smile. He did tell Cole he could ask questions.

 

Cole cocks his head and his eyes get that faraway look that Dorian is learning to dread. “His face in the stands, watching as I pass the test. So proud there's tears in his eyes. Anything to make him happy. Anything.” Cole looks at him, searching his face. “Why isn't that true anymore?”

Adaar bumps their shoulders together, trying to check in with him subtly, but he won’t intervene. Sometimes Dorian wishes he were a bit less respectful. “...I think I’d prefer to table this discussion until we’re back in Skyhold, Cole,” he says tightly, through the heart in his throat.

 

Cole is upset. “I'm hurting you, Dorian. Words winding, wanting, wounding. You said I could ask.”

 

“I know I did, Mellitus. I know.” He takes Cole’s hand and squeezes it. “And it’s sweet of you to try to help me. The things you’re asking are just... very personal. And the wounds are fresh.”

 

Cole is nearly inconsolable, however, as Dorian’s pain increases. “But it hurts. I want to help, but it's all tangled with the love. I can't tug it loose without tearing it.” He pauses, stroking Dorian’s hand. “You hold him so tightly. You let it keep hurting, because you think hurting is who you are. Why would you do that?”

 

Dorian chokes back the tears that want to come. “I’ll try to explain when we get home, Cole. I promise. Just... not here, okay?”

 

“I keep making it worse. I’m sorry.” Cole’s eyes are grey and guileless, full of hurt.

 

Dorian brushes his overlong hair out of them. “No, Mellitus. It’s not your fault you don’t understand. I’ll try to work out the words. Just... leave me with it for now, all right?”

 

Cole nods dubiously, and goes to help pack up their lunch things before they get back on the road. Adaar squeezes his shoulder and goes to join him. Dorian is left to try and put himself into some sort of order before it’s time to travel again.

***

 

When they return to Skyhold, Dorian slips away to his room as quickly as politeness could possibly dictate. Spring is still cool in the mountains, but he strips to his skin anyway, and rolls himself into his blankets, pulling them over his head, blocking out the world. Exhausted, he slips into a fitful sleep, even though the sun is just setting. He wakes from a nightmare of blood and a man he never wants to be to find Cole crouched at the foot of his bed. He’s not even surprised enough to startle, which makes him smile, and he unwraps himself enough to peel off a blanket and wrap it around Cole’s shoulders. “I've been trying to imagine how to explain it to you, Cole.” He tucks the blankets closer around himself and breathes. “The thing is, sometimes the ones you love are also the ones who disappoint you the most. You think that if they love you, they should understand.” He swallows hard, trying to keep himself even. “They shouldn't want to hurt you. So you feel betrayed. You say things you can't ever take back.” He searches Cole’s face, willing him to understand, because he’s afraid trying another explanation will break him.

Cole speaks in Dorian’s father’s voice, “Get out. You are no son of mine”

 

Dorian tries not to wince. “Yes, like that.”

 

“He wishes he hadn't meant it.” Cole pulls the blanket tighter around himself.

 

“I wish he hadn't either, Mellitus.” Dorian conjures up a smile, sad as it is, from somewhere, because Cole doesn't deserve to be hurt just because Dorian is. “Have you fixed me enough that I can return to my sleep? We can’t all be ageless spirit children with no need of beauty rest.”

 

Cole probably sees right through his lie. He wraps the blanket Dorian gave him back around Dorian’s shoulders, leaning their foreheads together and whispers, “He tried to melt a snowflake because he liked waterfalls, but snowflakes are beautiful, too.” And with that he fades into the shadows and is gone from the room, leaving Dorian to stifle a sob into his pillow.

***

In the morning he skips breakfast, taking a pot of tea to his alcove. He’s sipping and staring into the middle distance when the courier comes with a letter from a mutual friend of his and Felix’s. It’s news he had expected, but it hits him hard. He’s still staring dully at the pages in his hand when Adaar approaches. “Anything interesting?”

 

Dorian folds the pages and carefully fits them into his journal. “A letter regarding Felix, Alexius’s son. He went to the Magisterium, stood on the floor, and told them of you.” Dorian smiles crookedly up at Adaar. “A glowing testimonial, so I’m informed.” He lifts on shoulder in a half shrug. It’s a gesture he’s irritatingly aware he’s picked up from Adaar, but he can’t seem to stop. “No word on the reaction, but everyone back home is talking.” He looks past Adaar, into the middle distance. “Felix always was as good as his word.”

 

“Was?” Damned intuitive bastard.

 

“He’s dead. The Blight caught up with him.” Dorian stands, unable to be still any longer, and goes to lean on the railing, watching Solas paint in the rotunda below.

 

“Are you all right?” Adaar takes a few steps closer, but doesn't touch him.

 

The one shouldered shrug makes a return appearance. “He was ill, and thus living on borrowed time. Though with the letters I appear to be getting this week, I’m considering requesting that the couriers simply deliver correspondence to or about me directly to the fireplace.” He gives a mirthless chuckle.

 

Adaar leans next to him, still not quite close enough to be touching. “You’re allowed to grieve, Dorian.”

 

“I know.” Dorian can’t help but smile a little as he remembers. “Felix used to sneak me treats from the kitchen when I was working late in his father’s study.” He glances at Adaar who smiles encouragingly. “‘Don’t get into trouble on my behalf.’ I’d tell him. ‘I like trouble,’ he’d say.” Dorian knows he’s smiling a soft smile that Felix often brought to his face. He doesn't try to hide it. “Tevinter could use more mages like him. Those who put the good of others above themselves.”

 

“Were the two of you involved?” Adaar asks.

 

Dorian looks at him, and sees no judgment. He’s just giving Dorian an outlet to talk. If Adaar were even a slightly different person, he might be tempted to be a little less truthful. He shakes his head. “No. I could hardly repay Alexius’s hospitality by seducing his son. I’d hoped, when I was younger, that Tevinter could change in time, that I could... but it wasn't to be.” He straightens a little. “Even in illness, Felix was the best of us. With him around, you just knew things could be better.”

 

Adaar stands, and tugs his arm, folding it into the crook of his and leads toward the stairs. Dorian doesn't resist, appreciating the outlet for his restlessness. “You make it sound like he was a better person than you.” He leads Dorian up the stairs and out onto the ramparts. The sun is shining, the garden is green. Skyhold will be even lovelier in a few seasons, when the renovations are finally finished.

 

Dorian pretends to be insulted by the very idea. “What a mad thing to say! Few people are better than I.”

 

Adaar raises an eyebrow, crowding him against the wall with a well-muscled arm by his head. Dorian feels a flush creep up his chest into his face.

 

“Very well. A better person, clearly, but not nearly as handsome.” Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

 

Adaar leans in, murmurs “I think you underestimate your virtues,” and kisses him, slow and soft.

 

Dorian smiles into the kiss. “Thankfully Felix wasn't the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.” And he stretches up, takes Adaar’s face in his hands and kisses him back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mellitus: mellītus m (feminine mellīta, neuter mellītum); first/second declension
> 
> Of or pertaining to honey.  
> Sweetened with honey, honey-sweet, honeyed.  
> (figuratively) As sweet as honey; honey-sweet, darling, lovely.  
> (figuratively, substantive, term of endearment) Sweet, darling, honey.
> 
> I stole from Latin rather shamelessly. I don't actually speak Tevene. :(
> 
> No, there's no Dorian/Cole in this fic. Dorian sees Cole as a child. I'm pretty sure Cole sees him in not much of a different light, but that's another tale.
> 
> We finally made it to kissing! I'm sorry it's taking me so long to get to the good part. I've just been writing and writing to get closer to the characters. I'm finally getting more comfortable. Thanks for all the kudos!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masturbation in this chapter, folks. If you're skipping the porny bits, it's toward the end.

* * *

The days get sunnier, Skyhold gets warmer, the Inquisition gets more powerful, and Dorian finds himself at loose ends one day in early spring. Important visitors who simply must meet the Inquisitor mean no missions this week. Dorian would stay in the library to drink and guard his books, but the visitors also mean that a closer watch is being kept on the wine cellar. Besides, the day is pleasantly warm and there’s a breeze with the promise of the coming summer on it. So Dorian decides he’ll head to the tavern. He usually avoids it. Too many people with too many unpleasant experiences with Vints. He doesn’t blame them, but he prefers to avoid the unpleasantness when he can.

 

The mood in the tavern seems lighter than the last time Dorian ventured there. The barkeep smiles at him, and gives him his first round on the house. Dorian thanks him, confused, and skulks off into a corner to drink it. He’s not even finished his flagon when Bull finds him. “Hey, Dorian. Ran out of books and dust in the library and came to see what reading material the tavern had to offer?

 

“Surprised you’re willing to be seen with a Vint, Bull. Wouldn’t you rather be out butchering my people?” Dorian’s response is acidic.

 

“Hey, butchering implies I’m gonna eat ‘em. Most Vints are just gristle and fat in a red wine marinade. Not appetizing.” Bull laughs and plunks another flagon down in front of Dorian before sitting across the table with his own.

 

Dorian smirks and pretends to consider. “Well, that much is true. Thank you,” he tips the fresh flagon toward Bull before drinking.

 

Bull smiles, and there’s no edge to it, which makes Dorian distinctly nervous. “You doing all right?” Bull asks, leaning back in his chair, causing it to creak alarmingly. “I know family stuff can be rough.”

 

There are no words for how much Dorian doesn't want to discuss it. “How would you know? True Qunari don’t have families.” He’s being an arse and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to apologize.

 

Bull lets it roll off of him, like every other poisonous comment Dorian is suddenly ashamed of.  “Finding out you don't fit in with the people who raised you?” He should be angry, but his voice is kind. Probably his face too, but Dorian can’t quite bring himself to look. “Having to walk away from everything you grew up with, knowing you've disappointed the ones who loved you? I might know a bit.” He pauses until Dorian is forced to look. His face is as understanding as the words have been. “Takes a tough man to do it, too. So good on you, you big old fop,” he concludes, with an oddly impish grin.

 

Dorian rolls his eyes and twirls a single finger in the air in a mockery of celebration. “Yay. Good on me,” he deadpans. Bull laughs and claps him on the back, signaling to the barkeep for more ale.

 

Sera makes her way down at some point during that third round. Dorian is surprised when she sits next to him like they’re friends. He’d rather thought she disliked him. She doesn't speak until he’s been staring more than a moment. “What, Dorian? Stop looking at me!”

 

“Sorry. I was just wondering if familiarity would cure your suspicion of magic.” Dorian is a bit nonplussed by the whole situation. Sera is hard to predict at the best of times. “You don’t seem to be afraid of anything else. It's a gift as mundane to me as your bow to you. Surely you see there's nothing to fear in a properly used tool.”

 

Sera’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Tell that to all the _proper_ mages wavin' their _tools_ in people's faces!”

 

Maker help Dorian, she’s adorable. “There’s an image,” he returns mildly, trying not to laugh. He doesn't dare look at Bull, but he can see his shoulders shaking in the corner of his vision.

 

“What about Coryphemus? How many _proper tools_ does he have under him?” Sera accuses.

 

Varric arrives just in time to interject, “Not nearly enough, apparently.” The rejoinder nearly breaks Dorian, who just barely manages to maintain his composure. Bull howls with laughter. Dorian feels the corners of his lips twitching.

 

Sera ignores them. “And the rebel mages? How many _proper tools_ have they raised?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

 

Dorian tries. He really does. “That’s not -” The laughter he’s trying to keep down escapes as a snort. “I really don’t think I can continue.” The whole table breaks into laughter.

 

Sera forges on. “I don’t need to be familiar with your _tool_.”

 

“Please stop saying tool,” Dorian pleads, crying with laughter. He can’t finish his thought, he’s laughing too hard.

 

Sera smirks at him. Clearly, she knows exactly what she’s done. “I like you, Dorian. Don’t ruin it.” She signals for the next round and Dorian abandons the effort. For now.

***

 

He wakes the next morning in his bed, fully clothed, with absolutely no idea how he got there. He realizes he went the whole night without paying for a single drink. He didn't join the Inquisition to make friends, but apparently he did anyway. He’s surprised at how little of a hangover he has, considering. He drinks some water, dresses and goes about his morning necessities feeling lighter than he has in a while. The sun is out for the second day in a row, and Cole is perched on the stairwell wall. Dorian smiles at him. “Care to join me for breakfast, Mellitus?” he enquires.

 

Cole makes a disgusted face at the idea of food, but hops lightly down to join Dorian on his walk to the hall, anyway. “You call me honey-sweet, but that’s not my name, Dorian.”

 

“I know, Cole. It’s an endearment. It means we’re friends. You were my first friend here, other than perhaps the Inquisitor, or Varric.” Dorian slows their walk, as Cole clearly has something on his mind.

 

Cole’s eyes go distant. “Amatus, the loved. You think it when you’re with him, but it hurts, because you loved Relenus too, but never with the old words. His skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles.” Cole comes back to him, searches his face. “He would have said yes.” Cole pauses, as if realizing something. “My questions are hurting you less today,” he keeps searching Dorian’s expression, as if he fears it isn’t true.

 

Dorian smiles softly. “The past few weeks have shown a remarkable improvement in my fortunes, Mellitus, and thus my spirits.”

 

“Richness, rare, roaring. Friends. They know, _they know_ , and they come close. A hand on my arm, clapping my back. Not a viper. A companion, one among many. Unexpected kindness. Heart cracked out of its heavy stone shell. Lighter, but vulnerable,” Cole says dreamily. “You can trust them.” Dorian could get whiplash from how quickly Cole dips in and out of his thoughts. “You can trust me. You are Inquisition. He’s made it a home for outcasts. Safety. For all of us.”

 

 

Dorian can’t seem to stop smiling. “He has at that, Cole.” He takes Cole’s hand and tucks it under his arm. “Can I convince you to try some tea this morning?” he asks as they finally get to the hall. He’s famished, for once.

 

Cole demurs, and disappears, probably to haunt the kitchens. Cassandra sits across from him, nodding in greeting. He lets her eat in companionable silence for a bit before deciding to see how far his newfound camaraderie reaches. “My mother has a friend who’s a Pentaghast, you know,” he offers.

 

He’s delighted when she rolls her eyes at him. “The Pentaghasts are a large clan, Dorian. I cannot know them all, nor would I want to.” She sips her tea, not even truly irritated.

 

Dorian is delighted, and continues. “Enormously fat man. Three chins, four mansions, five ways to sell you out, as Mother liked to say.”

 

Cassandra’s eyebrows climb in surprise, and she chuckles, “Oh. I do know him - Cousin Loren, with the wandering hands.” She pulls a basket of rolls closer and pulls one apart, buttering it thoughtfully before continuing. “I take it your father returned to Tevinter?”

 

Dorian sighs. “Let’s hope so.” Cassandra pushes the rolls toward him slightly, and he smiles a little as he takes one. Who knew his father’s visit would effect such positive change in Dorian’s life? He’s sure if the man knew he’d have stayed away.

 

Apropos of apparently nothing, Cassandra muses, “My father died when I was very young. I hardly remember him now.”

 

He doesn't know Cassandra well enough to know precisely what she means at first. Dorian has to think fast to decipher the apparently cryptic statement, but then he realizes that the life of a Nevarran noble girl is probably closer to his childhood than he had previously considered. His heart twists in sympathy. “I won’t say you’re lucky, because obviously not. But there are days...”

 

Cassandra puts her hand over his for the briefest moment. It’s gone again almost before he registers it, but the warmth of it lingers. “I understand. You have my sympathy.”

 

Yesterday, Dorian would have bristled. Today, he realizes that his struggles with his father have humanized him to his companions. He smiles, and remembering Varric’s actions on one of his first mornings in Haven, peels an apple and offers her half, delighted when she shows a rare smile in return. “You’re not as handsome as you think you are, Dorian,” she admonishes him, almost playfully.

 

He grins. “Oh, but I _must_ be, or you wouldn't have been thinking about it all this time.”

 

Maker preserve him, she actually laughs. “Anyone who claims it as often as you must be dreadfully concerned they’re not,” she sniffs.

 

He turns to one side, motioning to his face, “Look at this profile. Isn't it incredible? I picture it in marble.”

 

Varric arrives just as Cassandra leaves the table, still chuckling. Seeing the Seeker laugh, he turns a mock alarmed look on Dorian. “What did you do to the Seeker, Sparkler? Laughter’s not really in her repertoire.”

 

Dorian is feeling mischievous, so he replies, “Varric, it’s bad manners to flirt and tell.”

 

Varric snorts. “Someone should tell Tiny that.”

 

Dorian just laughs into his tea. It’s a _lovely_ morning.  “So, Varric. What’s a deshyr from the Merchant’s Guild doing in the middle of a battle against ancient evil?”

 

Varric gives him a bland look. “I could say the same of a pampered, noble Tevinter.”

 

Dorian feigns shock. “You can’t call me _pampered_ , Varric. No one has peeled me a grape in _weeks_.”

 

Varric smirks and arches an eyebrow, “Perhaps that’s something you should discuss with the Inquisitor, Sparkler. I’m sure the two of you can come to an... arrangement.”

 

Dorian feels the blush creep up his cheeks. “The dwarf plays dirty, “ he says, mock glaring.

 

Varric just laughs at Dorian as he flees. Discretion is the better part of valor, and Varric can’t press him for details if he leaves quickly.

***

He spends the rest of the week happily ensconced in research, though he does retire to the tavern in the evening quite often, now. Even if the tavern is empty when he first appears, the Iron Bull always arrives shortly after Dorian does. One night, Bull is already sitting with the Chargers when Dorian arrives. He goes to the bar to order his ale, but as he’s looking for a corner to occupy, Bull waves him over. Dorian approaches warily. He’s not certain enough in his new friendships to turn down the invitation, but he doesn't know the Chargers at all. He squares his shoulders and tells himself there’s no need for trepidation.  He’s a bit surprised when Krem pats a seat between him and Bull for Dorian to sit in, but he sits. “So these are the Chargers, and you’re the Bull. That’s clever,” he smiles up at Bull.

 

Bull grins down at him. “Work that out on your own, did you?” The group is raucous, not paying much attention to Dorian among them. “Gotta keep it simple, so the nobles get it. They pay us to fight, not entertain at tea.”

 

Dorian nearly chokes on his ale, sputtering. “ _That_ I’d like to see.”

 

Bull laughs with him, huge hand clapping him on the back, nearly hard enough to knock him out of his seat. “That clunking pile of Vint to your left is Krem de la Krem, my second in command. I thought you two should meet.”

 

Krem rolls his eyes. “So glad the chief has someone new to hit with that joke. Pretty sure he’s refining it for when he invites the Inquisitor for an ale.” Krem glares at Bull, but there’s very little heat in it. “Cremisius Aclassi. I hear you’re the renegade Pavus.”

 

Dorian could take that as a slight, but Krem doesn’t seem angry, just curious, so Dorian laughs. “I suppose I am, but I always ask handsome men to call me Dorian,” he smiles charmingly and offers his hand.

 

Krem blushes as he shakes it, “You’d probably have more luck with the boss than with me. I have my eye on someone already.” He can’t stop himself from looking at an Elven girl at a table on the other side of the room. Dorian remembers Cole mentioning her. She’s a little taller than her companions, with hair that looks auburn or red depending on how the light hits it. She and her friends are talking and laughing, but at one point she looks at Krem and smiles, before blushing and going back to her friends.

 

“No offense meant. She’s lovely,” Dorian smiles.

 

Krem smiles back. “None taken.” He sips his ale. “Forgive me if I’m distracted. I haven’t figured out how to talk to her when she’s with her friends.”

 

Dorian hums thoughtfully, and after a moment, pulls his ever-present journal from his belt, tears out a leaf, and begins to fold. He can feel both Krem and Bull watching him curiously, but he works steadily for several moments, folding and twisting the paper, carefully fraying certain edges just so, until he is holding a passable, if tiny, paper imitation of a sparrow. “It’s a small gift. Not enough to be overbearing, but probably enough to seem sweet.” He hands it to Krem, who looks at him like he’s just done something incredible.

 

Krem takes it. “You’re all right, for a Pavus.” He clears his throat. “Dorian,” he adds, making it clear that he feels Dorian has earned being called his given name. “Thanks.”

 

Dorian waves it off. “It’s just paper. Find me later and I’ll teach you. Now go, before she decides you aren't coming and leaves.” He makes a shooing motion, and Krem grins at him and goes. Dorian doesn't watch, though he’s dreadfully curious to see the results. He has no idea what it’s really like to court someone openly.

 

Bull is smiling softly at him. Dorian shoves him, and Bull laughs. “You’re a good man, under all that bluster, Dorian.”

 

“Shut up, you smelly, shirtless, lumbering oaf, and order me some wine. This ale is positively vile.” Dorian pretends not to be charmed, pretends not to be utterly grateful for the friendship he’s being shown.

 

Bull laughs and orders the wine. “You’re a terrible liar. Especially for a Vint.”

 

Dorian ignores him and drinks his wine.

***

 

The next day Adaar comes to see him in the library again. Dorian is pleased to see him, and smiles as he comes closer. “Brilliant, isn't it? One moment you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad. That should be enough for anyone to handle, yes?” He stands, drawing the Inquisitor close, and giving him the chair. Then pouring him some wine in the second cup he’s begun keeping around, and pressing it into Adaar’s hands. “Then an Archdemon appears and kicks you in the head!” Dorian gesticulates a kick to the head. “What? You thought this would be easy? No, I was just hoping you wouldn't crush our village like an anthill. Sorry about that. Archdemons like to crush you know. Can’t be helped.” He throws his hands up, miming exasperation, as one would with a small child. “And then, once you've gathered your people like a flock and found them a new home, you will be subjected to an endless string of dignitaries, each of which will make you miss the Archdemon. At least you knew what he wanted.” He realizes he’s engaging in verbal battle without a sparring partner, and stops. “I’m sorry. Am I speaking too quickly for you?”

 

Adaar smiles wryly. “I was... distracted.”

 

Feeling playful, Dorian ripostes, “By my wit and charm? I have plenty of both.” He puts his hands on his hips, posing slightly for effect.

 

Much to his shock, Adaar doesn't deny it. “How interesting to find a man so aware of his strengths,” he smiles at Dorian.

 

“I’m a man of many talents. What can I say?” Dorian smirks back, letting himself swagger a bit more than usual.

 

“Any luck finding Corypheus’s real name?” Adaar asks, referencing Dorian’s latest project.

 

Dorian shakes his head. “Not yet,” he sighs. “I’d always assumed the Elder One behind the Venatori was a Magister. I never imagined it could be worse than that.” He shifts some of the notes on his desk, leaving a sketch he had done of what he remembered of Corypheus on top. _Too much_. “In Tevinter, they tell us that the Chantry’s tales of Magisters starting the Blight are just that. Tall tales. Meant to frighten children and keep mages in circles. But here we are. One of those very Magisters, a darkspawn.” He scrubs a hand over his face in irritation.

 

Adaar pours more wine into Dorian’s cup, Andraste bless him. “That makes you angry?”

 

He sips the wine, feeling it sweeter to have come from Adaar’s hands, and weighs his answer. “The Imperium is my home. I knew what I was taught wasn’t the whole truth, but I had assumed that some of it would be.” He sighs again. “More fool me. It was us all along. We destroyed the world.” His shoulders slump under the weight of the confession.

 

Adaar pulls him down to sit on his knee. “That was a thousand years ago Dorian. Not you. You’re researching day and night to find a way to stop it.”

 

“I have idiot countrymen who would happily follow him down that path again, remember?” Dorian perches, ready to jump up at a moment’s notice should anyone so much as look in the alcove. “No one will thank me, whatever happens.” He looks Adaar in the eye. “No one will thank you either. You know that, yes?”

 

Adaar shrugs, as uncomfortable with the idea of gratitude for saving the world as he is with Dorian being grateful for boots. “We don’t know what will happen, Kadan.” His hand slides to the back of Dorian's neck and squeezes, and Dorian melts against Adaar’s broad chest. He doesn't recognize the endearment. He really only knows Qunlat in terms of war. Arishok, Antaam, Anaan, Bas, Beresaad, Ben Hassrath, Gaatlock, Karasaad, Karishok. Even Adaar’s name itself is a weapon. He has no reference for Qunari endearments.

 

“You’re an _optimist_ , “ Dorian chuckles. “Such a rare breed. I thought you had to be a virgin to stumble on a unicorn.”

 

“I’m hoping you’ll allow me to _thoroughly_ disabuse you of that notion in the near future, Kadan.” Adaar smiles, and the innuendo coupled with the soft brush of Adaar’s thumb just at the base of his skull makes him shiver. “Sadly, I still have guests to entertain this evening.” Adaar sighs.

 

Dorian dislikes the tiredness that creeps into Adaar’s tone, so he kisses him, right there in the alcove. He’s sure he’s red to the tips of his ears, but Adaar just cups the back of his head and returns the kiss with passion. “You should go, or it will be obvious to anyone with eyes that you’re fallen under the spell of the _mage from Tevinter_.” Dorian draws the last out, making it silly so he won’t have to face his fear that public opinion will eventually force an end to their intimacy.

 

Adaar smiles. “I have eyes too, Dorian.” He l _ooks_ and Dorian’s blush gets stronger.

 

Dorian stands before he’s tempted to do something untoward. “You’re a bad man,” he says, but he can’t stop smiling.

 

Adaar stands, pulling Dorian toward him. He captures Dorian’s mouth, kissing him long and lush, and leaves.

 

Dorian goes to his room instead of the tavern. He strips to his skin, ignoring his most pressing need for the moment, and pours some water into the washbasin, washing himself thoroughly. He’s not sure why he’s drawing it out, other than making himself wait feels good. He can feel the arousal buzzing all through his skin. He leaves the cloth hanging over the edge of the basin to clean up with after. Looking down at his erect cock, he drags his fingertips up the underside, soft and teasing. He shivers, and does it again, over and over until the tip starts to weep clear fluid, and his knees want to buckle. He lets himself make a soft needy sound because allowing it, hearing it in the small room he inhabits only increases his arousal. He thinks of Adaar’s hand on the back of his neck and drops slowly to his knees. He imagines Adaar keeping his hand there, holding Dorian in place.

 

He draws in a shaky breath, imagining doing this with Adaar in the room. Watching him. He wraps a hand around himself. His cock is leaking, and he spreads the slick fluid over himself with a soft, drawn-out groan. Would Adaar approve? Would he tell Dorian what to do, how to touch himself, or would he watch quietly? Dorian’s hand speeds up, making slick noise that makes Dorian feel hot all over. He thinks about Adaar telling him he’s doing well. His orgasm begins to coil deep in his belly. He slows his hand, imagining Adaar asking him to wait. To draw it out so he can enjoy Dorian’s desperation. He doesn't allow himself to stop, pitting his need against the desire of his fantasy. Another sound escapes him. He can hear it echoing off the stone walls around him. It drives him, his hand moving faster. The coiling in his belly gets hotter. He imagines Adaar twining fingers in his hair, tilting his head back, and telling him how good he is being. He gasps, reliving the kisses they've shared. He remembers Adaar pressing him against the rampart, taking him captive for a kiss, and comes.

 

He’s still kneeling, leaning his head on the edge of his bed and panting, when his door bangs open. “Dorian! Krem needs your help,” Bull says before he looks.

 

Dorian stands, takes the cloth and cleans himself like getting caught doesn't bother him. “I need five minutes. I’ll meet you at the tavern,” Dorian says, forcing himself to remain impassive. He can see Bull’s nostrils flare, knows he must be smelling Dorian’s release, but he doesn't say anything, standing in the doorway for nearly a full minute, looking. “If you’d like to paint a portrait, we can make an appointment later, for now, kindly _get out_.”

 

Bull closes the door very deliberately and goes. Dorian takes a moment to wash himself and put his clothes back on. He fixes his hair and mustache. He opens the window an inch, knowing the room will be cold when he gets back, but needing to clear the room of the smell of sex. He goes out and dumps the water, and returns the basin to its place before heading to the tavern, steeling himself for the ribbing he’ll surely be getting from Bull.

 


	9. Chapter 9

He spends the evening helping Krem navigate courting his inamorata. It’s oddly entertaining, in addition to the warm feeling he gets from being Krem’s confidante in such a delicate matter. Krem and Lessa, as Dorian has recently learned the name of the mysterious red-haired kitchen girl to be, leave the tavern to walk on the ramparts at Dorian’s suggestion. Bull orders another round for both of them. Dorian gears himself up for verbal sparring with Bull, but the Qunari just drinks.

 

Dorian finishes his ale, telling himself he’s not disappointed. He stands, about to excuse himself, when he realizes Bull has followed his example, and is on his feet. Dorian can tell he’s a little drunk by the careful way he moves as they leave the room. “Are you quite sure you’re all right, Bull?” Dorian asks, a little concerned.

 

Dorian is expecting a quip and grin. What he gets instead is a long, intense look before Bull says simply, “Yeah, I’m fine,” and turns toward his room, walking away.

 

“That was not exactly convincing,” Dorian shouts at his retreating form, but the Bull doesn’t turn around. He knows Qunari are meant to be inscrutable, the Ben Hassrath spies even more so, but he feels somewhat unsettled by the exchange. He heads to his room, frowning thoughtfully. It’s chilly when he gets there, and he shuts the window. Undressing, he spies a note from Adaar on his desk. Apparently they have a lead on where one of the missing Grey Wardens might be found. They’re headed to a hamlet called Crestwood in the morning. Dorian grimaces as he readies himself for bed. Crestwood is not so far out of the Hinterlands that there’s any chance of warmth. Ah well. At least Adaar will be there. Dorian sets out his warmest clothes for the morning and climbs into bed.

***

 

The morning comes earlier than Dorian wants it to. His dreams were strange, dragons locking horns as they fought, the ground shaking. He can’t decide whether he’s glad Cole appears to have other business than delving into Dorian’s thoughts this morning, or not. He eats quickly, heading out to the stables with Varric. Blackwall is already there, as usual. He greets Varric and sneers at Dorian, also as usual. Dorian sneers back, missing the easy banter with Bull before they’ve even left the gate. But going to see a Grey Warden requires they bring their Grey Warden, alas. Hawke joins them close to the gate. Dorian rides quietly, watching Adaar attempt to get the ever-taciturn Blackwall to open up a bit. Varric seems pleased to have Hawke around. He’s smiling quite a bit. Dorian hadn’t realized that Varric had been sad until he saw it lift. He hasn’t yet spoken to Hawke, but he cautiously hopes the Champion decides to stick around a while. Varric deserves to be able to keep his friends close.

 

Crestwood isn’t just cold and wet. The dead are walking out of a rift in the lake. Because of course they are. Dorian rolls his eyes. Adaar catches the look and grins at him, so he does it again for good measure. There’s a commotion ahead, and Dorian recognizes Grey Warden armor in the skirmish. He keeps his voice low as they approach to deal with the undead, “I thought we were looking for one Warden. Where are they all coming from, suddenly?”

 

Adaar shrugs and uses his magic to scatter the tight knot at the core of the fight. After that, it’s mostly just a matter of clean up. The undead aren’t particularly strong, or organized. Adaar asks the Wardens if they’ll help clear up the problem, but it turns out they’re looking for the same Warden as the Inquisition. Dorian sees the carefully blank look on Hawke’s face and thinks _Uh oh_. This does not bode well. They’ll have to move quickly.

 

Unfortunately, the ever-growing army of undead need to be stopped first. The mayor clearly doesn’t want them to drain the lake, but it seems the only way to get to the rift, which shouldn’t be left open anyway. They work their way through the bandits that have come to prey on the chaos in the area, only to find the mechanism for draining the lake isn’t as broken as the mayor had told him. With a shrug, Adaar mans the mechanism, throwing his considerable muscle into it. Blackwall joins him, and the mechanism turns easily. They all share a look. The mayor was obviously hiding something. They’ll have to deal with it later, though. Right now they have bigger fish to fry. Hawke leaves them to hopefully track down a lead on his Grey Warden friend. They take a trip out to check on the local herbalist at the request of her friend in Crestwood, and by the time they get back, the lake is drained enough for them to squelch down and find their way to the rift.

 

The rift isn’t in the old town proper, but they find some clues that there are tunnels under the city. Adaar sends them out to mark the corpses that aren’t walking to be burned. It’s both good sense and respect, and Dorian squeezes his shoulder in approval. Dorian is checking one of the derelict buildings when he runs into a spirit. There are wisps everywhere, though they have been more prevalent in the area they drained, but this spirit is different. “Well, hello there,” Dorian says warily. It ignores him, and Dorian is backing away slowly when Adaar comes to check on him.

 

“You, you there!” It calls out to him. Adaar carefully puts himself between Dorian and the spirit, as if it’s not as dangerous to him as it is to Dorian. “I order you to tell me why nothing here heeds my commands!” The spirit continues.

 

Adaar looks at the spirit quizzically. “This would be a good time to have Solas or Cole with us,” he murmurs to Dorian.

 

“Hmph,” the spirit replies, clearly hearing them anyway. “Like Compassion ever had any answers for anyone. I demand you answer me at once.”

 

Dorian attempts to reason with it. “You seem lost, Spirit. Perhaps - “

 

“Silence. Let the other one speak.” Even in spectral form it appears to be crossing arms over its chest. Dorian rolls his eyes. “Tell me why nothing here changes. I bid the rocks to part and they ignore me. I bid the sky draw close and it remains still. I don’t know how you mortals stand it!”

 

“This isn’t the fade. You can’t change things here just by willing it.” Adaar seems to relax a little. The spirit doesn’t appear to be violent, it’s just frustrated. “Powerful spirits usually represent something,” Adaar continues, and Dorian thinks the flicker of color that seems to go through the spectral form might be satisfaction at the flattery. “Compassion, Justice, Wisdom,” Adaar begins to list, but the spirit cuts him off.

 

“Soft virtues,” it dismisses. “I am more. I am Command. What of you? I sensed your coming. Is there something alike in us?”

 

Adaar appears a little nonplussed. “Possibly,” he allows.

 

“I knew it!” Command crows. “Make your armies ready. Cleave to your loyal servants.” Dorian is sure the spirit looks at him when it says servant, though it has no eyes to speak of. He crosses his arms and huffs in irritation. “You will need them all.”

 

“Why not just return to the Fade?” Adaar asks.

 

“I will _not_ be denied,” the spirit griped. “I refuse to leave until something obeys my orders.”

 

“Well, I feel compelled to offer you aid, then. I pledge myself to your service. What are your orders?” Adaar is clearly amused, but the spirit either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.

 

“I have only one order. A creature of rage had the gall to chase me across the lake. Destroy it in my name and be rewarded.”

 

“I’ve heard worse orders,” murmurs Blackwall, who has quietly entered behind them. Dorian agrees, silently. If there’s a rage demon nearby, chances are it will attack them anyway. It won’t cost them anything to give this spirit what it wants.

 

Adaar apparently agrees. “As you command,” he bows. “Where shall we find this demon?”

 

The spirit describes a mine entrance nearby. Adaar smiles. It’s likely the way to the rift they’re looking for as well. He bows again as they leave. “I can feel Solas’s smug approval of your behavior from here. You met a spirit and helped it. The gleam from that bald dome of his will be blinding.”

 

Adaar laughs. “I’m fairly certain Solas’s emotions don’t control how shiny his head is, Dorian.”

 

“Says the man who doesn’t have to spend all day defending his eyes from the glare,” Dorian mock-grumbles, making Adaar laugh again. He pretends not to be smiling at the sound, feigning a glare.

 

They make their way down to the mines without further incident. The tunnels are eerily lit with luminescent mushrooms, not enough light to navigate by. There are sconces, so they clean out the sodden remains and replace them with fresh torches as they make their way down. “Not all dwarves like caves,” Varric grumbles as they fight off the inevitable spiders.

 

There are, oddly, more bodies in the mines. It looks as if people had been living down there. Adaar tries to keep his face blank, but it looks more bleak than impassive. It’s becoming clear that the flood was not an accident, and darkspawn are not known for their tactical ability. The flooding of old Crestwood was very likely a human action, but why? They continue on, finding the rage demon that Command had encountered and destroying it.

 

“This looks dwarven,” Varric remarks as they look around the area. “Older than most of the stuff under Orzammar, I think.” The mines are indeed giving way to structure. Rooms and doors. “Keep an eye out for keys,” he urges. “Some of these doors are likely to be locked.”

 

They carefully clear the area, room by room. In the first couple, nothing stirs but nugs.  They find a few caches of gold and weapons, though. As they approach the third one, the mark on Adaar’s hand flares and he gives a subvocal hiss of pain. “It’s a big one,” he informs them. “Something powerful's waiting to come through.”

 

They ready themselves and step through the door. What comes though is indeed powerful, a pride demon with a host of lesser malevolent spirits attending. They’re almost overwhelmed by the initial deluge, but Blackwall spins, his shield held out stiffly, and the first wave is knocked back, some of them dissipating when they hit stalactites or decorative projections on the walls.

 

“Try to clear the minions first!” Adaar calls out, knocking more demons back with a mind blast, leaving many of them reeling.

 

Dorian plants a fire sigil in front of Adaar, keeping the spirits away from him so he can bring his staff to bear on them, dodges the tail of an electrical attack from the pride demon and blasts a group of smaller demons back with a fireball with fluid movements. Force magics might be gauche, but they certainly are useful, he thinks, dodging another demon and bringing his staff around to blast it with fire.

  
He spares a glance for his companions before wheeling on another group of demons. Blackwall has cleared the lesser demons in his area, and is mostly keeping the pride demon’s attention on him, though it appears to be fairly intent on Adaar. Varric is calmly releasing arrow after arrow into its back. Dorian skewers the last minion on his staff blade and plants a fire sigil under its feet. In a stroke of amazingly bad luck, the demon whirls on him as it falls. A tendril of electricity wraps itself around his arm. The pain is extraordinary. It burns his entire body and feels cold all at once. He’s conscious for long enough to watch Adaar’s face go from horror to rage as he screams, driving the blade of his staff into the demons eye. Then Dorian crumples to the ground, unconscious.


	10. Chapter 10

Waking is slow and frankly, horrible. His arm burns as if the electricity was still wrapped around it, his throat feels raw, his mouth is dry. He tries to sit up, but Adaar’s hand appears, pressing him back into the pallet. “It’s all right, Dorian. You’re all right. Water?”

 

He nods, and Adaar’s hand slips behind his head, and water is carefully poured into his mouth. Even tasting of the skin, it’s wonderful and cool. He moans softly and cracks his eyes open. “I’d be injured more often if I knew the Inquisitor would personally nurse me back to health,” he rasps.

 

“Try it and I’ll whip you hard enough you won’t be able to sit on a horse for the next three missions,” Adaar growls, and Dorian thinks _Oh_ , noticing the way Adaar’s hands shake as they comb through his hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, penitent. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Not afraid of red lyrium, mad magisters from chantry tales who roam the earth with archdemons, holes in the sky that spit demons everywhere, or travelling through time, but Dorian being injured makes him tremble like a leaf. Dorian wonders if that somehow makes sense to Adaar, because it doesn’t seem at all rational to him.

 

“I can’t stay anyway,” Adaar says, his voice going flat. “We have to find Stroud.”

 

“Of course. I’ll just remain here until I’ve recovered, then,” Dorian closes his eyes. He is tired, for all that he’s only been awake a few minutes.

 

“Idiot,” Adaar huffs. “Bull and Sera are bringing Solas. They’ll take you home. To Skyhold,” Adaar clarifies. “The healers will have you right in no time.”

 

“Well, I’m uncertain precisely what I’ve done to earn the Iron Bull and a Red Jenny as my personal escort, but I approve,” he quips, to hide how touched he is by the concern. “Now if I could just get someone to peel me a grape...”

 

Adaar huffs a laugh at the joke, which makes Dorian feel mildly triumphant in spite of his state. “Cole may have gone slightly mad when you were hurt,” he continues more seriously. “There was a raven waiting by the time we got you back to camp.” He puts a cool cloth on Dorian’s head, and Dorian groans with the unexpected pleasure of it. “Bull said Krem would, ‘cut off his horns if he let Krem’s only chance of popping his cork this century die’ and Sera just told Leliana to shut up, she was coming, not writing letters.” Dorian smiles slightly at how clearly the spymaster apparently captured their voices.

 

“Is Cole all right?” he asks, worried.

 

“I felt you get hurt,” Cole’s voice says, and Dorian opens his eyes again, because he hadn’t seen the boy when he opened them before. He still doesn’t, but there’s a smokiness to the air nearby that Dorian realizes might be Cole’s spirit form.

 

“It’s a hazard of fighting demons, Mellitus. You know that. I’ll be just fine,” Dorian reaches toward him with his injured arm unthinkingly, a split second before realizing what a terrible idea that was. Fire races up his arm and he bites down on a scream. The smoky area agitates, becoming even less coherent, Cole’s voice keening with his pain. Dorian is alarmed, worried that Cole will lose himself, so he slows his breathing, closes the pain up and shoves it away. “I’m all right, Mellitus. I just moved too quickly. I’m fine,” he repeats soothingly, over and over, until the keening stops and Cole’s shape becomes more coherent.

 

Adaar offers him a potion for the pain and he takes it. It makes the world a little fuzzy and Dorian yawns muzzily. “Cole? What happened to your body?” he asks.

 

“Moving it was too slow. I could hear you screaming, but I couldn’t come faster than the horse could run. So I stopped having a body.” Cole doesn’t sound any different.

 

Dorian finds that curious, but he doubts Cole knows why any more than Dorian himself does. So he asks the other pressing question. “Could you start having a body again, if you wanted?”

 

“Yes. It’s just... tiring. I didn’t want to be tired if you needed me, Dorian.” The smoky form shifts closer, and Dorian smiles a little at just how human Cole can be, even when he’s not.

 

“The medicine will make me sleep any moment now,” Dorian yawns again, just mentioning it makes him feel more tired. “And I believe it would comfort me to see your face, Mellitus. If it’s not too much trouble.” The smoke coalesces, and Dorian can almost hear the Fade sing as Cole bends it. He continues to solidify until he looks the same as he always has, and Dorian pulls him down into a somewhat awkward, one-armed hug, relieved. “I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose them, Mellitus. Do be careful with yourself.”

 

“Says the man who let a pride demon try to yank his arm off,” Adaar interjects, but the acidity of the comment is somewhat undercut by the sweetness of his hands in Dorian’s hair.

 

“You say let, but it wasn’t like he asked me first,” Dorian complains. He shifts, pained, and Cole gently moves his arm, folding a fur and propping it up. The sudden absence of pain is near ecstasy. “Thank you, Cole. That’s perfect,” he breathes.

 

Cole goes back to pillowing his head on Dorian’s stomach, and stroking his injured hand where it lies on the fur. Dorian ruffles his hair affectionately with his good hand and dozes.

***

 

Bull and Sera are already there when he wakes up. Adaar has left the tent, but Cole is perched by his head. Dorian reaches with his good hand to pat him on the knee. Cole smiles down at him. “The horses are tired. They rode quickly. Right through demons on the road, bowling them over, cutting them down without ever dismounting. Sera said goodbye to the arrows as she let them fly. She has more. She doesn’t expect to see those again. They want to see you, but Adaar said to let you sleep.”

 

“I’m awake now,” Dorian says, struggling to sit up. His arm isn’t responding at all, the fiery pain is no better, and Dorian has to clamp down on the pained noises he wants to be making. “Would you go let them know, please? I’ll see if I can’t get a shirt on.” Dorian forces a smile. Cole looks at him dubiously, but goes.

 

He gets his good arm into the shirt and pokes his head through the top. So far, so good. He spends several moments considering the logistics of getting the other arm into its sleeve, and eventually settles for putting his good hand through the wrong end of the sleeve and pulling the injured arm through. The pain is indescribable. He bites through his lip trying not to scream, tasting blood. The world swims around him, and he can hear the commotion that probably means Cole is reacting, as if from far away, under water. _Vishante kaffaas_. His arm is trapped in the sleeve, folded awkwardly, he can’t move it. He begins to thrash in pain and panic as his vision greys around the edges.

 

It’s Bull who comes through the tent flaps. Dorian can’t help but think of how he must look, blood dripping from his lip, trapped in his shirt. The pain is starting to make him feel nauseous. He breaks out in a cold sweat. “ _Vashedan_!” Bull swears, pulling a knife from the small of his back and cutting Dorian free of the shirt, a kindness Dorian repays by barely managing not to vomit in his lap. “Did you get a knock to the head too? Because I know it’s been a week, but I don’t remember you being this stupid,” Bull says, wiping Dorian’s face with the remnants of his shirt, dabbing carefully at his lip.

 

“It was actually a very successful ploy to get you to come nurse me,” Dorian says, too weak to make it sound properly flirtatious. He pulls away, determined to at least sit on his own, and his stomach churns as the world goes abruptly sideways. Bull catches him before he can fall and lowers him gently to the pallet. He’s muttering at Dorian in Qunlat, and Dorian doesn’t know what he’s saying, so he just closes his eyes. He hears Bull talking to someone outside the tent, and then he’s back.

 

“Think you can keep a potion down?” Bull asks, smoothing his hair back from where sweat has stuck it to his forehead. He looks worried, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with tension.

 

Dorian is about to snap that of course he can when his stomach gives a vertiginous flip. He decides to err on the side of caution. “Perhaps some water, first?” He feels pathetic. The self-loathing makes his stomach flip again, so he shoves it away. Bull sits him up slowly and carefully and holds a skin for him so he can drink. The water has been flavored with some kind of mint, and Dorian can feel his stomach settling. He chases the water skin when Bull pulls it away, suddenly very thirsty.

 

“Slow down a bit, it’ll still be here.” He shifts until Dorian is sitting sideways, his head pillowed on Bull’s chest and his knees over Bull’s thigh. Dorian is too exhausted to even complain about being treated like child. A healer comes to look at his arm, talks to Bull when Dorian doesn’t really respond, and gives him a pouch. Dorian’s too tired to care, and the haze of pain is too thick to fight through.

 

Bull gives him some more water, and he drinks it. A few moments later, he holds a potion to Dorian’s lips and he drinks that, too. He doesn’t comment when it seems much stronger than the one Adaar gave him yesterday, the world immediately becoming fuzzy and far away. Bull undresses him, washes him, and puts him in clean pants. Dorian doesn’t even complain about the barbaric lack of smallclothes. He takes Dorian’s ruined shirt, tears it into pieces, and makes a sling for Dorian’s arm. He uses smaller strips of cloth to secure it so there’s almost no pressure on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian hadn’t even realized that was what was causing him the most pain. He murmurs incoherent, drugged thanks.

 

The next thing he’s really aware of, Bull is lifting him into the back of a wagon. There’s hay under the furs he’s lowered on to, but he can’t bring himself to complain. Cole appears, looking paler than usual. Dorian tries to think of something that will make him smile, but he can’t. “Will you stay with the Inquisitor for me, Mellitus? Make sure he doesn’t do anything extra stupid without me?” His lips quirk.

 

Cole nods, and jumps down from where he’s perched on the side of the wagon. Dorian looks for Solas, who seems to understand Cole, even if he doesn’t much like Dorian. Solas is standing apart from the group, but when their eyes meet, he nods and goes to Cole like he’s read Dorian’s mind. Dorian is grateful. He’ll find something nice for the elf when he’s up and about again. Varric just says, “Take care of yourself, Sparkler,” but the skin around his eyes is tight with worry.

 

He forces a smile. “I always do. Decadent Tevinter, you know. It’s all part of a grand plan to find someone to peel my grapes.”

 

“I’ll peel you grapes with my own fingers if you can stay out of trouble until we get back to Skyhold,” Varric’s smile makes it to his eyes, and Dorian knows his joke has hit its target.

 

“I’d be a fool to take that bet. We all know I _am_ trouble, Varric.” His grin is closer to real, this time. Varric laughs and clasps Dorian’s hand before going to join the others at the fire.

 

Adaar doesn’t say much, tucking a note into Dorian’s journal and stowing that in his pack. He takes Dorian’s good hand, his thumb brushing back and forth over the pulse in his wrist. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he tells Dorian simply. “You let the healers take care of you,” he admonishes, as if Dorian would refuse.

 

Then he remembers that he tried to put a shirt on himself instead of asking for help and acknowledges the validity of Adaar’s concern. “I will. Promise.” He squeezes Adaar’s hand, trying to convey the things he can’t say with an audience. “Try not to kill anyone too interesting without me.” Adaar squeezes back and goes.

 

Bull takes his seat. “The ride’s probably gonna suck. I have enough of these,” he holds up one of the vials from earlier, “to keep you knocked out. Healer seems to think it’s the best idea. Your muscles tensing from the pain’s making it worse.”

 

Dorian appreciates Bull making it a choice more than he can say, and he tries to put it into a smile. “I’m under strict orders to do as the healer says,” he tells him. Bull smiles a little and uncorks the vial, holding it to his lips without further comment.

 

Dorian’s eyes feel heavy, and he lets them close, but he can feel Bull’s hand in his hair and the wagon under him as they move slowly away from camp, before the blackness takes him entirely.

***

The trip takes several days, most of which Dorian spends unconscious. When he starts to wake, Sera stops the wagon. Bull helps him take care of necessities. He drinks some water. He eats a few bites, then Bull gets the vials and gives him two, one right after the other. The blackness usually takes him before Bull has settled him in the wagon again. Once he wakes to find Sera asleep next to him and stars above him in the sky. Bull must be driving. Dorian doesn’t move or say anything until the pain gets to be too much to bear, enjoying the closeness and quiet.

 

When they finally make it back to Skyhold, Dorian wakes up in his room. Bull is dozing in a chair, and Sera is curled up at the foot of the bed, using his feet for a pillow in a way he’s sure isn’t comfortable to anyone but her. He’s in remarkably little pain, compared to what he last remembers. His arm still burns if he tries to move it, but it does move. He stops at wiggling his fingers, not wanting to disturb the equilibrium and turns his attention on the others. He wonders what he did to deserve friends who ride all night to your side when you’re injured. He’s fairly certain he’s never had them before. He’s actually fairly certain he has no family who would, either. He marvels at them as they sleep, wondering if he dare ask them. Whatever he did, he’d like to keep doing it.

***

 

Regaining use of his arm is an excruciatingly slow and ravagingly painful process. Adaar is still in Crestwood a fortnight later. Dorian misses him. Sometimes, he thinks a kiss would make all the pain worth it.

 

“Keep lifting. Ten more and then I’ll rub it down for you,” Bull’s voice breaks through his reverie.

 

Sweat trickles down his uncovered spine. He’s always too sore after these sessions with Bull to get his arm out of a sleeve, so he’s stopped bothering to wear a shirt. Barbarism is growing on him. He’s lifting a rock with a cord wrapped around it. It’s a significantly larger rock than he’d started with, but it’s still not as heavy as his staff. Which means no missions, even when Adaar does get back. He’ll have to leave Dorian behind. Dorian snarls and lifts the rock ten more times. Then five more. He almost hits Bull with his good fist when he takes the rock away. “You overdo it and you’ll just make it worse, Dorian. Come on.” His hand on Dorian’s good shoulder propels him, sulking, back to his room.

 

Bull wipes the sweat off his torso and arms with a wet cloth. The electricity left darker, spidery marks that twine around his arm. They’re still sensitive, and he shivers when Bull traces them carefully. The surgeon had been more worried about unseen damage the electricity might have done than a dislocated shoulder or broken bones, but Dorian still has feeling everywhere. It just tingles sometimes. Bull doesn’t say much, filling the room with the scent of spice as he rubs a warming oil into Dorian’s skin. He groans a little as it heats, just this side of _too much_. He wants this everywhere, the impotent frustration over his slowly healing body bleeding into another kind of frustration. Bull starts at his shoulder and works the soreness out of Dorian’s muscles, all the way down to his hand and every finger.  He turns when Bull releases him, pulling his arm away.

 

Bull tugs at the other shoulder, trying to get Dorian to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

 

Dorian shrugs him off. “Am I not allowed to be irritable now and again?”

 

“Seems like more than that from here.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes gently.

 

“You’re as stubborn as your namesake,” Dorian turns to shove him out of the room. He stumbles, grabbing on to the straps crossing Bull’s chest for balance instead. He hangs there, pressed against Bull’s chest for a moment. Then he surges up onto his toes, kissing Bull desperately. Bull lets him, and lets him go when he stumbles back with a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

 

Bull just smiles like he’s trying to be comforting, and Dorian isn’t sure if he’s imagining the sadness in it. “No big deal. Everyone knows you’re going a little crazy without the boss around.” He shrugs. “Hopefully we’ll hear tonight that he’s on his way. I’ll see you for more training tomorrow, okay?”

  
Dorian nods dully, and Bull opens the door and backs out of the room without turning his back to Dorian, who only thought he’d felt like a viper before.


	11. Chapter 11

Dorian had planned a visit to Adaar’s quarters when he returned, but he is waylaid by Mother Giselle. Dorian has little positive feeling about the southern Chantry. Sometimes he feels like Giselle embodies what little good there is to be found there. That is, except when it comes to Dorian himself, for whom she appears to have a venomous hatred. He has no real idea why. He knows she is the one his father chose to contact, but he’d never held that against the woman. She could hardly be held responsible for his father’s machinations. Since then however, she had made it clear that she was invested in getting him to leave Skyhold. She used every possible permutation of Chantry and personal guilt at every meeting they had.

Only today, Dorian was actually guilty of something. So instead of walking away, he stands by the stairs and lets himself be harangued about his undue influence over the Inquisitor. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” she hisses at him.

“Being clucked at by a hen,” he replies acidly, but his arms are folded and his head is down and he knows better than to give this much away in his body language. Giselle take a deep breath, and Dorian is so busy bracing himself for the next verbal blow that he doesn’t notice the Inquisitor has joined them until Giselle’s breath catches.

“Oh, hello Inquisitor,” she attempts to cover. Dorian almost laughs at the utter ridiculousness of the attempt. As if the most terrifying Spymaster in the history of spymasters weren’t on the floor above them listening to every word. Dorian likes Leliana, but everyone fears her, just a little. At least they do if they’re smart.

“What’s going on here?” Adaar rumbles, carefully keeping his stance neutral. Dorian can see his shoulders bunch, like he wants to cross his arms. There’s another ball coming up at Halamshiral. Someone must be coaching Adaar on his body language.

“The Revered Mother is concerned about my undue influence over you,” Dorian tells him, flatly.

“It is just concern,” she sugars her tone when she turns to the Inquisitor, “Your Worship, you must know how this looks.”

Adaar pinches the bridge of his nose at the use of the title he hates above all others and draws himself up to his full height. Giselle is a formidable woman, but Adaar has limits, and if she hadn’t crossed it by cornering Dorian, she most certainly had by continuing to use that particular title. “And if it is I who must know, why exactly is it Dorian you’re talking to?” The way he clearly enunciates every word is a clear sign that Adaar is already furious.

“This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side - the rumors alone!” Giselle continues heedlessly.

“I’m Qunari. Do you think I am somehow unaware of Tevinter’s reputation? Do you spread rumors of the Qunari or the Tal-Vashoth among the people as well, or did you just think Dorian was an easier target? Did you think I wouldn’t protect my companions?” Adaar is still speaking quietly, but there is dead silence in the rest of the rotunda. Everyone can hear. “If you have nothing better to do than spread fear and rumors about those who risk their lives to fight at my side, perhaps there is another position that will suit you better. Until then, please refrain from discussing matters you clearly don’t understand.” Giselle draws breath, whether to argue or say something in apology, Dorian will never know because Adaar cuts her off. “You are dismissed.”

Dorian watches Giselle scurry away, clearly terrified. “Well, that’s something.”

“She didn’t get to you, did she?” Adaar’s hand finds its way to the back of his neck again, squeezing and Dorian’s knees feel like jelly.

“It takes more than rumors to hurt me,” he scoffs. “Still... I’d like to talk privately. If you have a moment.” Dorian’s stomach somersaults. Giselle needn’t worry about his undue influence or any influence at all. It’s probably about to end.

“I need to discuss this with Leliana. You can come, or you can wait in my quarters if you like.” Adaar is searching his face, clearly worried.

“I’ll wait in your quarters. I don’t want to know what Leliana has to say about my influence with you. Might give me nightmares. She looks sweet, your Spymaster does, but she’s terrifying,” he jokes.

“She quite likes you, actually. Cassandra on the other hand...” Adaar rolls his eyes and kisses Dorian’s cheek. “I won’t be long.”  
***

Dorian pretends to study Adaar’s books. Anything here has two copies in the library already. Adaar’s tread on the stairs is soft. Dorian doesn’t turn. “Before you say anything, I despise confessions, so let me get this over with. I’ve betrayed you. I kissed the Iron Bull. It was a moment of weakness. Not that I expect you to forgive me. I’ll accept any punishment you see fit. But if you’ll let me stay I’ll stand beside you. Against Corypheus, my countrymen, whatever ridiculous rumour Giselle concocts next. Whatever comes. I’m your man.” He can’t turn around. He should, but he can’t seem to move.

Adaar wraps his arms around Dorian. True to form. He always did prefer actions to words. He turns Dorian gently and kisses him. “We should talk about that, then.” He guides Dorian to the couch and sits, drawing Dorian down beside him. “Why don’t we start with what happened?” Adaar takes both Dorian’s hands in both of his, chafing them gently, trying to calm him.

The absurdity of Adaar trying to comfort him when he’s done something so terrible nearly brings him to tears. He takes a deep breath. “Bull’s been working with me, trying to make my arm stronger. Yesterday...” Doran sighs. “I was angry. I’d realized I wouldn’t be strong enough to lift my staff. That you’d go on whatever the next mission was without me. Bull stopped me from pushing myself, so I was angry at him, too.” Dorian pulls his hands from Adaar’s gently. “He was rubbing the strain out of my muscles... the spiced oil was hot. And suddenly my frustration was... more primal.” Dorian stands up, going to the window to slump against the frame, looking out at the mountains. “I meant to shove him out the door. I truly did. Instead I kissed him.”

“It sounds like Bull took good care of you.” There isn’t even a hint of anger in Adaar’s voice, and Dorian turns, confused.

“You’re not angry?” Dorian asks, disbelieving.

“I might be if you had kept it a secret, or lied to me,” Adaar shrugs, “but you didn’t. Unless there’s more?” Dorian shakes his head, his eyes wide. Adaar studies him quietly for a long moment before continuing. “If Bull makes you happy, perhaps we could talk about including him?”

Dorian’s face crumbles. He can feel it, how crushed he feels being written across his face. “I made a mistake, Inquisitor, but I am not a whore, contrary to what you might have been told,” he pushes himself away from the window and heads for the stairs, too dejected to even properly storm out.

Adaar is closer to the stair than he is. He blocks the way, though he’s careful not to grab Dorian. Dorian can read the desire to written in the tension of his body though. He’s not sure how he feels about Adaar holding back. “Please, Dorian. I didn’t mean it like that. Hear me out?”

“If not that, what? A relationship?” Dorian spits the word at him, disbelieving.

“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?” Adaar does reach for him then, a hand finding his hair, thumb stroking his temple, and Dorian can feel Adaar’s fear in the gesture like he could when he was injured. As if losing Dorian were the one pain he couldn’t bear. He leans into the touch, moved beyond the ability to speak. “Speechless, I see,” Adaar jokes, pulling him closer.

“It doesn’t happen often,” Dorian shoves at Adaar’s chest, purposefully ineffectual. “Where I come from... anything between men is physical. It never goes beyond that. It’s not that you don’t care. You just learn not to hope for more.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “A threesome would definitely be a one off situation. Fun, but ultimately unsustainable. Something that might get used against you, even by those knew of such... behavior.”

“This isn’t Tevinter. You can hope for more.” Adaar’s hand finds it’s way to the back of his neck again. Dorian can feel himself responding. He closes his eyes.

“You say that like it’s a simple thing, easily imagined. I have no examples with which to compare,” Dorian tells him, without opening them.

“You’ll just have to trust me, then. Because I do.”

Dorian’s eyes pop open in surprise. “You? in a threesome?”

Adaar laughs, walking them toward the bed without letting go of Dorian. “Not like that. Well, yes and no, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He lays Dorian on the bed and presses close, tangling their legs together, looking Dorian in the eye. Dorian takes his hands, twining their fingers together. He thinks this may very well be the most intimate he’s ever been with anyone, and they both still have their clothes on. He stays very still, breathing shallowly, afraid to break the spell.

“You know my parents were Tal-Vashoth. They weren’t mages. So when the magic started to show in me, they needed help. Other Tal-Vashoth weren’t an option. They fear magic just like those in the Qun. They’d have killed me, at best. Tried to replicate saarebas enslavement, at worst.” Adaar’s eyes drop, shielding Dorian from the pain in them, and his shoulder lifts in his signature partial shrug. “My parents eventually found an apostate willing to help. He was like Dalish, from the Chargers. Separated from his clan because there were too many mages.”

“I didn’t realize your teacher was Elven. That explains why you and Solas always seem to understand each other, I suppose,” Dorian smiles.

“His name was Inan,” Adaar smiles back. “He was a good teacher. And he became much more. Not just to me.” Adaar meets Dorian’s eyes, willing him to understand. “I was young, still when I noticed that he mispronounced my father’s name. He called himself Issala. Dust in Qunlat. ...I think it was meant as protection, so if his name made it to Qunari ears, they would think him unimportant.” Adaar looks away again and clears his throat. “Inan started to pronounce it in the Elvish way after a while. Isala. Means something needed in Elvish.” Adaar’s smile is far away, remembering. “Mother explained it to me with a kitchen stool, of all things. With two legs it wouldn’t stand, but with three... it was sturdy enough to hold me up.” Adaar smiles again, more sadly. “So Inan became one of my fathers as well as my teacher. We were very happy, for a long time.”

“...what happened?” Dorian ventures.

Adaar looks as if he expected the question, but still doesn’t want to answer it. “We lived somewhere very remote, by necessity. Keeping clear of other Tal-Vashoth and Ben-Hassrath as well as looters or just people who would have killed two apostates and their accomplices.” Adaar’s hands are tight on Dorian’s and Dorian strokes them, one with the other, awkwardly trying to soothe him. Adaar notices and loosens his grip. He doesn’t let go. “I became restless as I got older. I wanted to see more of the world than the woods.” Adaar’s sigh is heavy with regret. “I joined the Valo-Kas. I wasn’t there when they were killed. I came home after a job to find the little cottage where we lived burned to the ground. I buried what was left of my parents. All three of them.”

Dorian doesn’t let him say anything else, just pulls Adaar into his arms and holds him for a long, long while.  
***

Adaar kisses him awake. The room is dark, but Dorian can see pink along the horizon. It’s also bitterly cold, as they fell asleep without feeding fire, and with a balcony door open. It will likely be cold at night even in the summer, at Skyhold. Dorian shivers and buries his face against Adaar’s broad chest.

“Hawke found Stroud in Crestwood, finally,” Adaar tells him quietly, manhandling him under the blanket and tucking him in. “I’m so sorry, Kadan, but I have to go.”

“What does it mean, when you call me that?” Dorian shivers under the blankets, watching Adaar build up the fire again, his scarred back all Dorian can see in the shadows. Once the fire is roaring, he stands, pulls a fur out of a chest and puts it over Dorian as well. It’s heavy, but Dorian feels warmer.

Adaar kneels by the bed, kissing the tip of Dorian’s nose before he answers. “My heart,” Adaar tells him, smiling.

Dorian scrunches his nose. “Next thing we know you’ll be making cow eyes at puppies. Were you always like this? Why isn’t your name the Qunlat equivalent of sunshine or something like that?”

“Names are different for Qunari. My parents called me Kost, peace. Except for Inan. He called me Enasal, joy. Adaar was the name I took for the mercenaries. You could give me a name that’s just for you, if you wanted,” and with that, he kisses Dorian again, and is gone.

Dorian huffs his irritation to the empty room, and decides to go back to sleep.  
***

He goes about his routine the next day like nothing has changed. He tells himself it hasn’t. He’s fairly certain he’s the only one who knows this much about Adaar’s family, though. He wonders if Adaar would ever have mentioned it if Dorian hadn’t kissed another man. He thinks about kitchen stools when Bull gives him a bigger rock, puts a hand on his shoulder and under his elbow as he lifts, as he rubs the spiced oil into Dorian’s skin. He thinks about kissing Bull again. About having not one, but two men. Not just for sex, for love. Love alone a life far beyond what he’s allowed himself to imagine. Redoubled. His thoughts are fracturing around it. If Bull notices his navel-gazing, he doesn’t mention it.

When Adaar returns, there are several days of chaos. The Grey Wardens are at Adamant. Dorian still isn’t strong enough. He’s going to the Approach anyway, because there is no way Adaar is doing this without him. Even if all he’s good for is lighting the trebuchets, he’s going. Surprisingly, Adaar doesn’t argue, and tells Cullen to oil the stones for the trebuchets so they’ll carry Dorian’s fire to the walls. Cullen simply nods.

Not knowing what’s going on inside Adamant is excruciating. Worse when he sees the Archdemon for the second time in his life. An experience he was hoping to avoid, not that anyone asked. He sees the demon fall. He’s too far away to know who the figures falling from the edge are. Until he sees the rift open.

His heart stops, clenching in his chest. There’s only one person who can open a rift that they know of. Six people fall into the rift. It closes without anyone coming out. Dorian feels numb all over. They set up camp. Dorian helps tend to the wounded, mostly by mechanically ferrying supplies from the wagons to the healers. The sun goes down. Leliana sits him down in the tent with her agents and crows and puts something hot to drink in his hands. He stares at it while it slowly cools. Cole sits at his feet. After a while his arm curls around Dorian’s shins and he rests his head on Dorian’s knee. Dorian carefully removes one hand from the cup he’s still holding to stroke Cole’s hair. Someone he doesn’t recognize takes the cup from him and he mumbles thanks.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there when the camp starts to stir. It feels like an eternity, but in truth, the night is still dark. Dorian doesn’t understand at first. Why everyone is stirring. Then the singing starts. It’s the same hymn Giselle started them all singing, the night Adaar stumbled from the snow. It appears to have become the Inquisition’s unofficial anthem. Dorian stumbles out of Leliana’s tent. Adaar is walking with Hawke’s arm over his shoulder, but seems unharmed himself. Bull, Cassandra and Sera are banged up but mobile. Sera is the first to reach him. She holds him upright in the guise of a hug. He’s aware that he’s shaking. Adaar squeezes his hand briefly, before he’s drawn away to be a man of the people. Sera is pulled away by a healer. Dorian stands alone for several long moments. Then he finds an empty tent, and collapses.  
***  
He avoids Adaar until they’re back in Skyhold. He’s angry, and he’s not even sure why. He’s furiously reshelving the books that have been put away all wrong in his brief absence when Adaar makes his way to the library. Dorian starts before Adaar can speak. “You have remarkably little here on early Tevinter history. All these “gifts” to the Inquisition, and the best they can do is the Malefica Imperio? Trite propaganda. But if you want twenty volumes on where the Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, this is evidently the place to find it,” he shoves another book into it’s rightful place with more force than is probably necessary.

Adaar just smiles. “There’s the Dorian I know. Critiquing every book in my library.”

“I wouldn’t have to if I could find some rebellious heretic archivist to join the cause!” Dorian is still angry and he shoves another book into place. But anything is better than talking about.... anything is better than thinking about it too. He angrily shelves another book.

“You mean other than you?” Adaar asks, pulling Dorian close as he shelves the last book. “Why would I want the second best rebellious heretic archivist?”

“If Corypheus ever starts burning masterworks of literature, I’m sure a few will pop up,” Dorian answers, ignoring the second question. It feels good to be held, but he’s not done being angry yet. “Did I see something by Genitivi here? I could have sworn...” He pretends not to be melting into Adaar’s hands.

“Talk to me, Kadan. What’s wrong?” And there’s his hand again, squeezing the back of Dorian’s neck. Dorian’s knees go weak.

“I saw the rift open. I saw you fall. I thought you were done for. You left me behind, and went where I couldn’t follow. I don’t know if I can forgive you for that moment,” Dorian can’t look Adaar in the eye. There’s a lancing pain in his heart. “I thought, ‘This is it. This is where I finally lose him forever.’ Are you... all right?” Dorian’s anger has melted away.

“It was like walking in a nightmare, but everything was real. I couldn’t...” Adaar sounds sad.

Dorian leans in close, letting Adaar hold him. “Ah, it’s as I thought. The fade is an ordeal under normal circumstances.” He strokes Adaar’s back. “To be the only real thing there... beyond description.” He kisses Adaar’s temple. “That any of you made it out alive is difficult to believe. That you made it out?” Dorian nuzzles the spot he just kissed. “A miracle. You do realize this feat hasn’t been performed in a thousand years? Corypheus and his companions entered the Fade and began the Blights. In comparison...”

“I wish you’d been with me.” Adaar sits in Dorian’s chair, and pulls Dorian into his lap.

“No offense, but I think the fewer Tevinters that enter the Fade, the better off we all are,” Dorian makes light of it all with a smile. Adaar is alive now. They survived the impossible. Again.

“Mmm.” Adaar makes an agreeable noise.

“My advice? Keep this quiet. Let them speculate. Too many will see this as a challenge.”

“I agree.” Adaar’s fingers trail up Dorian’s arm, tracing the muscles in his shoulder. He shivers.

A courier clears his throat and Adaar makes a frustrated noise. “I think I’ll have to save the world just to have a few minutes alone with you.”

Dorian chuckles mirthlessly and stands. Adaar squeezes the back of his neck, resting their foreheads together momentarily, and leaves.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens with porny bits

* * *

 

Dorian kneels on the carpet in front of the fireplace. His knees are spread, arms folded behind his back, head up. There’s a scarf over his eyes. He knows Adaar is in the room, but the hand that touches him is bigger and rougher. He shivers. It squeezes the back of his neck and he moans, leaning back into it. He knows he’s not supposed to speak unless he’s asked a question, but he doesn't know how he knows. Sounds are permissible,  though. He whimpers.

 

Bull’s voice is very close to his ear, when he speaks. Dorian can feel his breath on his neck. “Adaar is watching, Kadan. We’ll both be watching. Show us, but don’t come without permission. Tell me you understand.”

 

Dorian nods, swallowing. “I understand, Carissmus.” Bull smoothes his hair and moves away. Dorian releases his hands from behind his back. His strokes them down his sides and up his chest, slowly, brushing over his nipples with his thumbs. The heat from the fire behind him makes the sweat prickle on his back and his nipples start to harden. He pinches them, and feels his erection give a twitch.

 

Adaar makes a pleased noise, which makes Bull give a low, filthy chuckle. Dorian moans and rolls his nipples between his fingers. He takes a deep, shaky breath and drags his fingertips lightly, lightly down, raising gooseflesh. He shivers and moans again. He can hear shifting from the bed. He traces the line of his pubic hair, lets his fingers trail down to his inner thighs, using his nails to drag them back up, leaving red lines in their wake. Dorian arches slightly into his own touch, letting his breath stutter loudly into the room. He drags his fingers into the creases of his thighs, touching his thumbs together, framing his cock. Offering it.

 

“Go ahead, Kadan. We’re watching,” Adaar says, his voice rumbling, low and hungry. “You still with us?”

 

“Yes, Amatus.” Dorian is breathless. He trails the fingertips of one hand up the underside of his cock, gently, teasing, like he does when he’s alone. It should be embarrassing, offering this to them without being touched. He strokes the inside of his thigh with his free hand, brushing fingers over the most sensitive skin, then trailing them softly over his scrotum. He cups them, fingertips still light on his shaft. He’s sweating freely now, between the fire and the tension. He’s leaking, and spreads the wetness over the head of his cock, making a high pitched, needy sound.

 

Bull chuckles again. “No one told you you had to go so slowly Kadan. You’re only torturing yourself. Show us and come claim your reward.”

 

Bull’s voice pools like liquid fire in his belly. “Yes, Carissmus,” he replies, his voice soft and far away. He wraps his hand around his cock, just holding it for a moment, gathering his self control. He strokes and squeezes, slowly and methodically. Bull is right, he is torturing himself. He enjoys the sharp edge of anticipation. He draws it out until he aches with it. until his whole body is trembling. Until there’s nothing but the fire roaring behind him and all through his body, and his awareness of being watched. _Cari oculis fovesque, I tactus inopia pereundum, et ressuscita me, et in oscula._

 

“Kadan,” Adaar calls. “Dorian,” he repeats when Dorian doesn't answer right away. “Enough. Come here.”

 

Dorian hasn’t been given specific orders on how to make his way to the bed. He has been told he will be rewarded for showing his desire. He wants to give them everything. He wants to be cosseted and petted and used and theirs. He drops to all fours. His back arches. He slinks across the floor until Bull’s huge hands pull him into the bed and he still can’t see, it feels like there are hands everywhere. He’s shaking, overwhelmed.

 

Adaar makes a soothing sound into his hair. “Close your eyes, Kadan.” He feels the scarf pulled from his eyes, and when he opens them, Bull is wrapping it around his wrists, securing them over his head. He knows he’s not any more vulnerable in reality, but the feeling covers his entire body in gooseflesh anyway.

 

Bull grins down at him. “What’s the watchword, Dorian?”

 

“Katoh,” Dorian breathes.

 

“Do you need to say it?” Adaar asks.

 

Dorian shakes his head. “No, Amatus. I’m good.” Bull kisses the inside of his wrist and slowly trails his mouth up Dorian’s arm, until there are teeth biting gently at his neck. “Very good,” he adds, groaning. His blood is on fire. Adaar spreads Dorian’s legs wide, nuzzling and kissing his thighs. The sounds coming from Dorian’s mouth are obscene. He doesn’t try to stop them, offering them up instead. The open him up with their hands and mouths, tongues and fingers. Dorian has no thought left but pleasure. His eyes are glazed as he looks up at the two horned heads above him, _If desire demons had looked like this, I’d have been lost the first time I stepped foot in the Fade, he thinks._

 

And wakes, gasping, alone in his bed.

***

 

Dorian decides to see what the tavern has on offer for breaking fast. Breakfast in the hall is unlikely to come with wine, and given his awakening, he’s quite certain he’ll need some. Dorian takes the long way around, over the ramparts. He doesn't want to see anyone until he’s well fortified.

 

The tavern has some sort of sweet bread with nuts in. It’s good, and Dorian eats two slices with his first cup wine. He pours himself another, closes his eyes, feels the sun on his face through the window, and tries to let it burn away the dream. He doesn’t even hear Krem until he sits down on the other side of the table. He cracks an eye open.

 

“Hung over, Dorian?” Krem grins at him, but he’s rubbing his shoulder.

 

“Just a restless night, Lautus.” Dorian sips his wine and tips his chin towards Krem’s shoulder, “You?”

 

“Chief’s in a mood. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?” Krem studies him over his tankard.

 

“Not today, “ Dorian shrugs. “And you let him try to take your arm off?”

 

“He’s trying to teach me a move. Supposedly. Think he might need the Inquisitor to beat him with the feelings stick again, though.” Krem chuckles.

 

Dorian laughs into his wine. “You really care for him, hmm?”

 

Krem looks out the window. “The Chief? First time I met him he saved my life. Never thought I’d work for a Qunari, but...” Krem grins crookedly, “he grows on you. He’s not like any commander I've ever worked for, that’s for sure.”

 

Dorian leans in, sensing a story. “Care to elaborate?”

 

Krem laughs. “Buy me another ale.”

 

Dorian laughs and signals for the barkeep. “Twist my arm.”

 

Krem tips his ale toward Dorian in thanks when it comes. “Bull keeps us alive. He leads from the front. And if you have an idea that will win the fight, he listens. I've seen companies where the commander has to prove he’s swinging the biggest sword. Bull’s not like that.”

 

Dorian rolls his eyes. “I know you know that’s not what I’m asking. ...is there something between you two?”

 

Krem just boggles at him for several long moments. “...you really have no idea, do you?”

 

“What you’re on about? No, I have no idea. That’s why I’m asking, you great clanking druffalo!” Dorian’s temper, already frayed, escapes him. He takes a breath. “I’m sorry... I -”

 

Krem laughs at him. “Shut it right there you ridiculous fop. I've been waiting for you to stop playing nice so we could be friends for real since we met.” He very gently kicks Dorian  under the table, which still fucking hurts because he’s wearing greaves. Krem continues to laugh as he rubs his abused shin and swears. Finally, he sobers. “I’m going to tell you something I don’t talk about much, and then you’re going to be real with me about the Chief, deal?”

 

Dorian grunts in irritation and assent. “If I say no, you’re just going to kick me again with your huge clodding feet,” he grumbles.

 

Krem grins, taking his refusal to return to niceness as agreement. “I was in trouble when I met Bull. You know how Tevinter is if you’re not a mage. I was a soldier, but women join under a different program.” Krem pauses, watching Dorian’s face, waiting patiently for him to understand.

 

Dorian is surprised, but not shocked or scandalized. “I’d never have guessed. You’re very handsome. Before... other things happened, I had cause to regret your interest in Lessa.” Dorian smiles ruefully. “I take it the trouble was when the Tevinter military found out?”

 

“They caught up with me. Almost killed me. Bull happened to be there. He lost his eye saving me. We’re close. Not the kind of close you’re thinking. I’d follow him into the Deep Roads if he needed me to. He’s never once made me feel like any less of a man.”

 

Dorian swallows. Krem’s confession feels both heavy and impossibly fragile, but he lets it settle. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

 

Krem’s hand covers his on the table, squeezing. “Don’t be an idiot. Unlike everyone else here, I know what House Pavus means, Dorian. I know what you gave up,” Krem pauses, takes a breath, “...my mother wanted me to marry up. Some merchant’s son. It would have saved my family. I couldn't do it either.”

 

“I've been thinking I should go back, when this is over. The Inquisitor is proof one man can change so much.` He looks out the window.

 

“You’ve work to do here, first,” Krem reminds him. “And you’re going to tell me what’s between you and the Chief.”

 

Dorian signals for more wine and another tankard. “This is... well. Very private. And some of it isn't really mine to tell, but I’ll try.” He waits until the barkeep has come and gone to start. “Adaar and I - “

 

“The Inquisitor?” Krem says, too loudly.

Dorian shushes him. “Keep it down, you oaf! Bull’s manners must be contagious.” He graciously ignores Krem’s snickering, and continues, “It’s been happening in dribs and drabs since I arrived. We haven’t ...” Dorian lets the pause take his meaning, “yet. It’s been a little complicated, and there’s never any time. Adaar wants...” Dorian sighs putting his head in his hands. “It’s like nothing is ever complicated for him. It’s a little frustrating,” he huffs a laugh, mostly at himself.

 

“And the Chief?” Krem prompts, impatiently.

 

“Bull never said anything that I didn’t take as mockery. ...but lately he’s been very solicitous. And sometimes he looks... sad? ...and I may have kissed him.” The last sentence escapes in a whispered rush.

 

“I knew _-mmph!_ ” Krem crows and Dorian clamps a hand over his mouth.

 

“This is not for the entire Inquisition to know,” Dorian hisses. Krem seems a bit tipsy. Maybe he felt like he needed a little liquid courage today. 

 

Krem quiets a bit and Dorian lets him go so he can finish his ale. “The Chief doesn't really do feelings like that. Too Qunari. But it’s not as casual with you as he pretends. Try not to hurt him.”

 

“Adaar said maybe we could be like the legs on a stool.” Dorian muses, kicking one of the extras near the table. “More stable with three. We haven’t had much of a chance to discuss it at length. Always a mission, or a courier politely clearing his throat. It’s starting to cost me sleep, wondering.”

 

Krem stifles a dirty chuckle in his tankard. “I bet.”

 

“Shut up.” Dorian tells him, exasperated.

 

“Never.” Krem defies.

 

Dorian laughs and clinks his wine glass against Krem’s tankard. “Probably for the best. One of us has to be the brains in this friendship, and I’m clearly thinking with the wrong body part.”

Krem kicks him under the table again. _  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cari oculis fovesque, I tactus inopia pereundum, et resuscita me, et in oscula."
> 
> My lovers cherish me with their eyes, I perish for want of touch, they revive me with kisses.
> 
>    
> Carissmus - Darling  
> Lautus - Gorgeous


	13. Chapter 13

Dorian sends a letter later that day. He hadn’t thought much about his birthright since he sold it. It might be enough to get Krem’s family to Skyhold, if Dorian is very clever. And he is. He’s careful to employ his own courier, separate from Skyhold. No one needs to know. Adaar especially doesn’t need to feel responsible for anything else.

 

It takes less than a week for Adaar to discover what he’s done and come to ask him about it. _Kaffas_ , he thinks as Adaar enters the library. Dorian can tell by the careful way Adaar approaches that he knows about the courier. “Don’t. I don’t need help. I got myself into this mess, I can get myself out.”

 

“...well that’s awkward.” Adaar says, holding the amulet in his hand and having the nerve to look chagrined.

 

“You are such a frustrating man,” Dorian fumes. “I don’t want to owe anyone. Especially you. I didn’t ask for this.”

 

“Perhaps you could explain what I did wrong slowly, so I understand?” Adaar puts the amulet in his hand and closes his fingers over it.

 

“Someone intelligent would cosy up to the Inquisitor if they could. It’d be foolish not to. He can open doors, get you whatever you want. Shower you with gifts and power. That’s what they’ll say.” Dorian can’t keep the pain from his face. “I’m the Magister who’s using you.”

 

Adaar’s gaze turns flirtatious. “Is that all? Please, do use me Dorian. I’ve been worried that you might be all talk.”

 

Adaar’s response startles a laugh out of Dorian. “Oh, you are glorious.” He takes Adaar’s face in his hands and kisses him. “I apologize for being an ass, then. Thank you. I will pay you back.”

 

Adaar’s hands wind into his hair, and he kisses Dorian, deep and hungry. The library goes silent. “If I have you, Kadan, what else would I need?” Dorian blushes, feeling the scrutiny of the room very keenly, and Adaar grins. “I was thinking I could visit you and Bull, today. When you’re working on your arm, that is. Maybe we could talk to him, after?”

 

Dorian pauses for a moment. “I, um...” Adaar’s skill at making him speechless is probably something his mother would have paid good money for when he was younger.

 

“Just talk, Dorian,” Adaar smoothes his hair. “We’re taking it slow between us.” He chuckles. “Not that we have much choice. That doesn’t have to change because we involve Bull.”

 

“As you say, Amatus.” Dorian feels anticipation coil in his belly. Today will be an interesting day, regardless.

 

Adaar’s smile softens. “Amatus?” he asks, his voice gentle, almost a whisper.

 

“Beloved.” Dorian answers, brushing his thumb across Adaar’s cheek.

 

The crinkle around Adaar’s eyes deepens. “Love you, too.”

 

Dorian’s heart skips and flutters, so he kisses Adaar again in lieu of trying to speak.

***

 

He goes about the rest of his day as usual, meeting Bull in the afternoon. He carefully removes his shirt, and considers telling Bull the Inquisitor will be paying them a visit today. He decides against it. Too many questions he’s not prepared to answer on his own. He’s more relaxed today though, knowing. He can lift his staff now, though his arm tires quickly. Bull works with him, a combination of strength training and basic staff fighting forms, but Dorian feels lighter and more hopeful than he has in the entire month since he was injured. He’s smiling as he works through the forms.

 

“You seem cheerful today,” Bull notes. He smiles softly, where he might favor Krem with a grin and a slap on the back. Dorian’s stomach flutters a bit.

 

“It’s good to have a staff in my hand again,” Dorian says, wiping the staff in question down with an oiled cloth.

 

“I bet,” Bull snickers. Dorian shoves at his shoulder, laughing. Bull musses Dorian’s hair. “Come on. Let’s get that rubbed down before you stiffen up.” Adaar joins them as they head to Dorian’s room. “Ah, Boss. I was going to find you later. I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red.”

 

Adaar is suddenly very focused. “I haven’t seen Leliana yet today. What does this letter say?”

 

They get to Dorian’s room, and Bull sits like he always does. Dorian cleans up, as Bull continues, “The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like Corypheus, or his Venatori. And they really don’t like red lyrium. They’re ready to work with us. ...with you, Boss.” Dorian sees Adaar wince as Bull verbally separates himself from Adaar and the Inquisition. Dorian makes sure Bull doesn’t, choosing that moment to get in the way, sitting in his usual place and handing Bull the oil for his shoulder. Bull takes it, and continues, “The Qunari and the Inquisition. Joining forces.”

 

“That could be a powerful alliance,” Adaar says thoughtfully.

 

“My people have never made a full-blown alliance with a foreign power before. This would be a big step,” Bull replies. They found a massive red lyrium shipping operation out on the Coast.” He rubs Dorian’s arm no less carefully or thoroughly with Adaar in the room. Dorian catches Adaar’s gaze and smirks at him a little. There’s a tiny flash of a smile, and then he’s back to focusing. “They want us to hit it together. Talked about bringing in a Dreadnought.”

 

“I always wanted to see one of those big warships in action,” Dorian muses.

 

“They’re worried about tipping off the smugglers, so no army. My Chargers, you, maybe some backup.”

 

Adaar’s expression is clouded. “I don’t much like having the tactics dictated to me. What’s in this for the Inquisition?”

 

“They wouldn’t use the word alliance if they didn’t mean it,” Bull explains. “Naval power. More Ben-Hassrath reports. Qunari soldiers pointed at the Venatori. It could do a lot of good.” Dorian rests his head on Bull’s knee as Bull works on his wrist. It’s sore today, probably because he was favoring his shoulder. He hisses a little, and Bull’s fingers gentle.

 

“What are your reservations?” Adaar asks him, and Bull smiles briefly at the sagacity of the question.

 

“No, I’m good, it’s just uh... I’m used to them being _over there_. It’s been a while.” Bull is clearly uncomfortable.

 

“And here I thought the plan was for the Qun to spread across the whole world,” Adaar jokes.

 

There’s a tense silence for several moments, and Dorian knows that Bull is weighing the value of the lives in the room against what he’s been taught to believe about the Qun. Adaar is a living, breathing example that not all Tal-Vashoth are what he believes. Should the Qun come this far however, it is very likely that both he and Dorian would be put to death. Adaar for being Tal-Vashoth and a free mage, Dorian likely for arrogance if he didn’t submit to being enslaved. “Yeah,” Bull finally replies, breathing it out on a long sigh. “I just never thought I’d see it.” He carefully wipes down Dorian’s arm with a cloth, and then goes to wash his hands. “The Qun answers a lot of questions. It’s a good life for a lot of people.” He rubs at his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “But it's a big change. And a lot of folks her wouldn’t do so well under that kind of life.” Adaar goes to him, takes him by the hand, and brings him back to the bed. Dorian goes to sit on his other side. They keep Bull between them as he talks. “I guess it’s not like we’re converting. This is just us joining forces against Corypheus. On that front, I think we’re good.” He sighs again.

 

“I’ll talk to Cullen and Leliana. I think it might be a good alliance.” Adaar doesn’t sound unhappy, exactly. Dorian can tell he’s wary, though.

 

Bull seems relieved, some tension falling out of his shoulders. “Good. Let me know when you want to set up the meeting.”

 

“Dorian and I actually wanted to talk to you, but it can wait, if you’d rather.” Adaar tells him gently. Dorian smiles at him across Bull’s broad shoulders. Adaar’s gentleness is probably not what will make him legendary, but Dorian thinks it should be.

 

Bull looks from one of them to the other, seeming to notice their relative positions for the first time, and quirks an eyebrow. “Nah, I’m good. What is it?”

 

Adaar smiles. “We we thinking of a somewhat more personal kind of alliance.”

 

Bull laughs. “Everyone wants to ride the Bull.”

 

“That too,” Dorian interjects, “but what Adaar has in mind is... more stable.” He hears his voice go soft. “Closer.” He carefully puts his hand on Bull’s arm, looking up at him. He knows his expression is hopeful, he tries to temper it so it’s not expectant.

 

Bull doesn’t immediately jump and flee the room, but even though his expression doesn’t really change, he seems... heavier. More sad. Adaar tells Bull about his parents. Dorian pours them some wine. He can see how hard it is for Adaar to tell Bull about it. Harder than it was with Dorian. He decides to ask about that when they’re alone.

 

Bull considers and drinks the wine Dorian gives him without complaining, which makes Dorian nervous. He clears his throat. “I think it could work,” he says, studying his cup, “but the timing makes it a little complicated.” He looks at Dorian, his eyes sad, and then turns to Adaar. His voice is soft, something in it Dorian has never heard before. “Will you ask me again, when this deal with the Qunari is done?”

 

Adaar touches his forehead to Bull’s. Not a kiss, but an intimacy nonetheless. “Of course. As many times as you need to be asked.”

 

Bull lets it go on for a long moment, his eyes falling closed. He squeezes Dorian’s shoulder as he stands to leave. Dorian squeezes his hand, not wanting to let go, but he does, and Bull leaves. Dorian watches him go with a bone deep sigh.

 

Adaar pulls him down into the bed and curls around him. “He didn’t say no, Kadan.”

 

Dorian turns and presses his chuckle against Adaar’s chest. “Does anything ever seem impossible to you, Amatus?”

 

“Not when you’re around.” Adaar kisses the top of his head.

 

Dorian snorts. “You were running around closing rifts and rescuing people before you met me, Amatus.”

 

 _Mm._ Adaar makes an agreeable noise. “But I was doing it because I had to. I wasn’t sure why. The world that killed my parents didn’t always seem worth all this.” He flexes his hand, the dull green glow from the Mark seeming to echo in the shadows of the room. His eyes darken, and Dorian knows it still pains him. “You’re... an up close and personal reminder that some things are worth saving. That I don’t have to be the only hero in this story.” He smiles, cupping Dorian’s cheek in his hand, brushing the curve of it with his thumb. “If we can find love, even in all this mess, that means love can survive. Even if I fail, if...” He pauses, not wanting to finish the thought. “Someone else will succeed. They’ll find a way. And it won’t always be like this.” He lifts one shoulder, that shrug unique to him. “Knowing that helps me to keep going. Even when I miss them so much I can barely breathe. Even when Corypheus feels unbeatable. I think about how my heart feels when you kiss me, or that smirk you give me at the end of a fight, like we’re invincible as long as we’re together. And it’s like it’s true. Like I can do anything you believe I can do. Everything is easier, because you believe in me,” Adaar’s gaze flits down, the confession making him bashful.

 

Dorian’s heart skips and flutters in a way that’s close enough to pain to make his eyes sting, too. “The things you say...” He’s breathless and his voice is tremulous and that just won’t do, so he kisses Adaar, fierce and desperate, his hands shaking as they cup Adaar’s face, stroke his horns and hair, unable to settle until Adaar captures them, pressing them over Dorian’s head and into the mattress. Dorian’s breath escapes him in a long, shaky rush, and he manages to rasp, “Yes. Please, yes,” through the haze of lust that closes over his entire body.

 

Adaar pulls back slightly to look at him. “You’ll tell me if we need to stop or anything I do is even a little uncomfortable for you in a way you dislike.” His gaze is implacable. It isn’t, on any level, a request. Dorian’s stomach twists with need.

 

“Yes, Amatus,” he replies obediently, meeting Adaar’s gaze.

 

Adaar smiles down at him. “Good boy.” The praise feels like electricity running over his skin. Dorian’s nostrils flare. His cock twitches, trapped under his clothes. Adaar’s smile deepens. “You want to be good for me, don’t you Dorian?”

 

Dorian feels like all the breath has been knocked out of him. The heat that’s been pooling in his belly climbs up his chest and into his cheeks. Saying yes to this feels like falling, his stomach telling him there’s no ground under his feet, but Adaar is pinning him securely to his bed. He’s safe. “Yes please, Amatus.” His voice shakes and he hates it, but he keeps his gaze steady.

 

Adaar leans in to kiss him. “We’ll have to talk more about this, but for now, good boys should get rewarded,” he murmurs, kissing his way along the line of Dorian’s jaw to nip gently at his ear, making Dorian’s toes curl.

 

There’s a knock at the door. “Inquisitor? The Marquise du Lancret has arrived. She’ll be in the hall in ten minutes,” a voice says from the other side of the door.

 

Adaar doesn’t let go immediately, resting his head on Dorian’s chest with a soft growl of frustration. “I’ll be right there,” he calls, kissing Dorian one last time and releasing him. “She wasn’t due until tomorrow morning,” Adaar complains more quietly, stranding.

 

“An Inquisitor’s work is never done,” Dorian tells him, straightening Adaar's clothes and doing his top button so he’ll be presentable. They walk to the door, and Dorian leans against the bannister, watching him head downstairs. Just before he heads into the courtyard, Dorian calls to him. “Inquisitor!” Adaar turns, looking up at him from the bottom of the stair, the light slanting across his face, making him squint a little, and Dorian smiles at the way his nose wrinkles with it. “That book you were asking about will be in your quarters when you return to them tonight. Make sure your advisors understand you’ll need time to look it over.”

The grin Adaar favors him with puts the sunlight to shame.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn. So much porn.

* * *

 

Dorian goes to put his clothes on, and decides to pass some time by checking in with Cole. He finds him sitting with Varric, and grabs some grapes from a table to snack on before sitting at the table in front of the fire that Varric has commandeered for his own. “Sparkler,” Varric greets him with a mischievous smile. “Still no one to peel those for you, hmm?”

 

“Sadly no, but one lives in hope,” he replies, grinning and offering Varric the basket.

 

Varric grabs a grape and pops it into his own mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Think I prefer them fermented.”

 

Dorian laughs, and Cole marvels at him, “Your happiness is brighter today. Like the sun in his eyes, making him squint and wrinkle his nose. Not falling, flying. Faster, higher, brighter. Heavy, hard, hurting things falling away when he holds you down so you can hear when he tells you how good you are for him without having to run away.”

 

Dorian realizes that he’s probably far gone when he’s not even embarrassed. He just pulls Cole close with an arm around his shoulders. Cole accepts the hug awkwardly at first, before melting against his side, tugging off his hat and putting his head on Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian kisses the top of his head. “I am indeed very happy, Mellitus.”

 

Varric raises an eyebrow, “So it’s finally happened then?”

 

“What has?” Dorian ripostes, popping another grape into his mouth with a slightly evil smirk. Varric gives him a look and Dorian relents. “Not yet, you storytelling vulture. But it’s that much closer, and I do enjoy the anticipation.” He should probably stop smiling, but he can’t quite, yet.

 

Varric chuckles. “The way you’re lit up like a chantry on a high holiday, I’d say much closer.”

 

“I’ve given you all you’re getting for today,” Dorian tells him, tossing a grape at his nose.

 

Varric darts back slightly, catching the fruit deftly between his teeth and eating it. “All right, Sparkler. I’ll just wait for Cole to tell me what you’ve been up to.”

 

Dorian laughs and ruffles Cole’s hair. Cole smiles up at him. “Dorian doesn’t really mind, Varric. No more secrets festering inside means he doesn’t have to be afraid. We’re his friends and he doesn’t have to hurt.”

 

Varric blinks and then smiles. “That’s exactly right, kid. Exactly right.” He makes sure to catch Dorian’s eye, so he knows he’s included in the moment.

 

Cole just smiles serenely. “I know.”

***

 

Dorian heads upstairs after he’s eaten to see if he can get some research done. He makes a small amount progress in spite of his distracted state. He skips dinner in favor of going to bathe. He’s thorough, and his skin is still pink and glowing from the scrubbing when he makes his way to Adaar’s room. Adaar is poring over some report or the other at his desk. He smiles, straightens and steps around the desk, toward Dorian.

 

“So,” Dorian says, purring low and prowling toward Adaar. “It’s all been very nice, this flirting business. I am however, not a very nice man. So here is my proposal: We dispense with the chitchat and move on to something more... primal.” Adaar simply stands his ground, smirking, as Dorian prowls around him. “It’ll set tongues wagging, of course. Not that they aren’t already wagging.” Dorian remembers being afraid that the rumors and Adaar’s need to maintain his place as Inquisitor would drive them apart. He’d never imagined that Adaar would simply refuse to be ashamed. “I suppose it really depends. How bad does the Inquisitor want to be?” Dorian’s mouth is right by Adaar’s ear.

 

Adaar laughs softly, turning and pulling Dorian close. “I was beginning to worry that you’d never ask.” Clearly he’s joking. The number of times they’ve been interrupted should be criminal.

 

Dorian smirks and runs with the joke. “Apparently, I like to play hard to get.”

 

Adaar kisses him, hot and hungry. “And now?”

 

“I believe I’ve been gotten,” Dorian tells him, breathlessly.

 

“And now that I have you, how bad do you want me to be?” Adaar growls softly in his ear.

 

Dorian takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’ll let you know if we reach a limit.”

 

“Katoh. It’s the Qunari word for limit. So I know exactly what you mean. Say it.”

 

“Katoh,” Dorian repeats.

 

Adaar rewards him with a kiss. “You’re so good for me, Dorian.” Adaar smiles at him and lets him go, taking a step back. “Now strip.” He leans back against the desk and crosses his arms.

 

Dorian is flushed to his ears, between Adaar’s words and the knowledge that he is watching. He undoes the buckles on his robes, one by one, watching Adaar watch him. He feels the same freefall feeling in his stomach from earlier, but he lets himself fall and trusts that Adaar will be there to catch him. Having left his smallclothes behind for the occasion, he lets his robes fall to the ground and stands naked, save for his boots.. He turns for effect, and because he knows his arse is one of his many best features. Adaar’s eyes are locked on every movement Dorian makes, but he undoes the buttons on his own shirt and shrugs out of it, leaving it heaped over the reports on his desk.

 

Adaar strips off the rest of his clothes with a soldier’s precision. He might be smaller than Bull, but he’s still broader and more heavily muscled than Dorian, whose fingers itch with the urge to touch. Adaar pulls him close, biting at his lips and kissing him deeply. Adaar’s skin is soft under Dorian’s wandering fingers, occasionally crossed with ridges of scars. Adaar's fingertips drag electric trails along Dorian’s skin. It’s more heady than wine, the combination of touch and the emotion he knows is behind it. He sways on his feet a little. Adaar pulls him closer, steadying him. “All right?”

 

Dorian smiles wryly in response. “A bit overwhelmed, perhaps. It occurred to me I’ve never really done this before,” he admits, leaning into Adaar.

 

“ _This_ , being?” Adaar tilts his chin up, meeting his eyes, brushing a thumb across his lower lip.

 

It makes Dorian’s mouth water. He swallows. “Been with someone who...” he struggles to finish the thought, certain whatever he says will be too much. Not the right thing, somehow. “Feels the way you do,” he continues, and pauses again. “About me.” It’s incredibly hard to say with Adaar looking right at him.

 

Adaar smiles, his whole face lighting up. “I love you, Kadan.”

 

Dorian wonders if there will ever be a time it doesn’t take his breath away to hear Adaar say those words. He leans in, touching his forehead to Adaar’s, and closes his eyes. “And I love you, Amatus.” His voice shakes.

 

Adaar strokes his hair. “So good for me, even when it’s hard for you.” The words alone make Dorian shiver, and he bites down on the desperately needy sound clawing at his throat. His control breaks when Adaar kisses him again and he clings to him, moaning into the kiss. Adaar’s hands stroke his back, soothing, but Dorian is not in a mood to be soothed. He bites at Adaar’s lips, sucking hard on his tongue, and Adaar’s hands slide lower, grabbing a double handful of his arse and squeezing. Dorian arches in surprise, and his gasp echoes loudly in the austere stone room. The sound makes gooseflesh erupt all over his body.

 

Adaar laughs and leans in, sucking a love bite into his neck, lifting him, and carrying him to the bed, laying him down gently. He pulls Dorian’s boots off without pulling back, bending him near in half to do it, and Dorian just uses the leverage to pull Adaar closer, grinding against him. Adaar tosses the boots over his shoulder, one after the other, teeth closing carefully on Dorian’s nipple.  Dorian’s groan seems loud in the echoing room, and he stuffs his knuckles into his mouth to muffle the sounds. Adaar looks up at the sudden cessation of sound. He shakes his head. “No, Kadan.” He takes Dorian’s hands and presses them to the bed over his head. “I want to hear you.”

 

He waits for Dorian to nod obediently before ducking his head again, the sharp sensation of teeth closing on his nipple at odds with the softness of fingertips trailing down his arms and sides. Adaar palms his hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles into the sensitive hollows, scant inches from where Dorian’s cock is hard and wanting. Dorian moans brokenly, shivering when the sound reverberates back to him like another touch. Adaar makes a pleased sound, skimming his mouth down Dorian’s body to the spot that elicited that response, sucking gently. His breath is close enough to wash over Dorian’s cock. He feels oversensitized, hot. He grabs on to a pillow over his head to keep from stuffing his fingers in his mouth again.

 

“Am I being too cruel, Kadan?” Adaar leans up to kiss him, and he’s joking, but there’s a thread of real concern there.

 

Dorian shakes his head. “Not even close,” he challenges, but his voice is rough, strained.

 

Mmmm, Adaar hums thoughtfully. His hands slide up to Dorian’s, twining their fingers together and pinning his hands to the bed. A small noise escapes Dorian, somewhere between need and contentment. He blushes, turning his face away. Adaar kisses the spot just behind his ear, nuzzling. “Sweet, sweet Dorian,” he murmurs against Dorian’s skin, making him shiver. “I want to give you what you need, Kadan. Every single thing. Don’t hide from me.”

 

Dorian turns his head, kissing Adaar hard and desperate, making needy noises into the kiss so he doesn’t have to hear them echoing. “Please, Amatus,” he says, softly against Adaar’s mouth. Adaar groans, switching his grip so he has both of Dorian’s hands in one of his, reaching for a small bottle of oil from the bedside. He drizzles it generously over Dorian’s cock. Dorian can feel it dripping and pooling. He whimpers, and Adaar kisses him, soft and sweet.

 

“You’re being so good, Dorian.” He drags his fingers through the thick oil on Dorian’s belly and wraps his hand around Dorian’s cock. “I just need you to be good a little longer. Can you do that?” He sweeps his thumb over the head and Dorian whines.

 

But he wants to be good. He wants to be perfect for Adaar, so he nods emphatically. “Yes, Amatus,” he tells Adaar breathlessly, biting his lip to fight the urge to arch into Adaar’s hand.

 

“ _Good_ boy,” Adaar purrs, stroking him once before sliding his slick fingers down between Dorian’s cheeks. Dorian spreads his legs wide, but Adaar doesn’t push in immediately, rubbing maddeningly gentle circles over his puckered entrance. Dorian closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, gathering his control. When he opens them, Adaar pushes the very tip of his finger past the entrance. Dorian groans softly, wanting to encourage that, but Adaar is committed to driving him slowly out of his mind, pressing the tip in and out until Dorian is panting for more.

 

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, voice breaking on the word. Adaar slides his finger all the way in and Dorian makes a low, desperate noise.  He slides it back out but comes back with two and more oil, fucking in and out until Dorian is making a needy _hnh hnh_ sound on every thrust. He can hear the sound echoing off the walls, but he’s beyond being able to quiet himself. He’s pinned between Adaar’s hand on his wrists and his fingers in Dorian’s arse. His cock is drooling all over his belly, twitching every time Adaar’s fingers brush that spot inside of him. He meets Adaar’s gaze, and he’s drinking in everything, every sound and every movement Dorian makes as if it’s a gift Dorian is giving him, and that pure, raw desire makes him forget to feel ashamed. “Amatus,” he says, and his voice is shredded, wrecked from holding back the need in his throat for so long.

 

Adaar smiles and gathers him up until Dorian is in his lap. Dorian winds his arms around Adaar’s neck and kisses him over and over. Adaar lifts him, positions himself, and Dorian slides down onto his cock like he belongs there. The noises he’s making are obscene and he knows it, but he can feel them make Adaar shudder and groan underneath him, so he lets his voice ring off the walls. Adaar folds his arms into the small of his back and holds them there with one powerful hand, winding the other into the hair at the back of his head, fucking into him. Dorian leans back, planting his feet, and uses his legs to fuck himself on Adaar’s cock. “ _Oh_ ,” Adaar breathes. “That’s perfect. Good boy. Slowly, until I tell you otherwise.”

Time bends a little there in Adaar’s bed, as Dorian lazily rocks himself in Adaar’s arms. His cock aches, dripping onto his stomach, but coming seems far away. Adaar urges him on a little faster, until he’s making those small, desperate noises on every thrust again. Then he pulls Dorian close, kissing him, and releasing his hands. “You’ve been so good for me, Kadan. So good. You’re perfect. Touch yourself. Come for me.”

 

The approval prickling across Dorian’s skin makes the need to come suddenly very immediate and Dorian wraps his hand around himself, stroking in time with Adaar’s thrusts, which speed up until Dorian is making short, sharp, staccato cries, his hand not able to keep up. He can hear Adaar crooning breathlessly to him, “So good, beautiful boy. So perfect, Can’t believe you’re mine.” His orgasm rushes over him as if those were the words he was waiting for, and he groans, loud and long, the relief almost painful in its intensity. Distantly, he feels Adaar’s arms close around him, shaking slightly as he comes, too.

 

They stay like that a long time, just breathing. Dorian dozes, and when he wakes, they’re relatively unsticky, and Adaar is curled around him under the covers. He turns so he can rest his head on Adaar’s chest, and goes back to sleep with a smile tugging the corners of his lips.

***

 

The sun has already risen when Dorian wakes. Adaar is still sleeping, but Dorian feels restless, so he carefully extricates himself. The room is warm, so he doesn’t bother to dress. He paces a little, watching the motes of dust flicker in the sunlight streaming through the windows. He wishes his thoughts were as lovely. He hears Adaar stir, and stills, the prickle at the back of his neck letting him know he’s being watched. “I like your quarters,” he says, as if he’d just been contemplating the decor.

 

“Oh,” Adaar says, amusement bleeding into his tone. Dorian can hear movement behind him, but he doesn’t turn. “Do you now?”

 

Realizing his mistake, Dorian corrects the course of the conversation. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity.” He turns and goes to sit on the bed. “I just like your appointments.”

 

“Ah,” is Adaar’s only response. Does he sound disappointed? Dorian can’t truly tell.

 

“Not that I couldn’t suggest some changes.” Adaar scoots closer. “Your taste is a little... austere.”

 

“You seem a little distracted,” Adaar replies, sitting up so he’s next to Dorian on the bed.

 

“Sex will do that,” Dorian equivocates. “It’s distracting.”

 

Adaar rolls his eyes. “I had heard that rumour.”

 

Dorian sighs. “Very well. You’ve rooted me out. There is something I want.” He looks down at his hands. “I’m curious where this goes, if it’s just you and I. We’ve had fun. Perfectly reasonable to leave it here and get on with the business of killing archdemons and such.” He’s trying to sound brisk, but he’s sure it just sounds rushed. Still, it has to be said. He doesn’t want to be the thing standing between Adaar and happiness.

 

Adaar grabs a pillow, teasing a tassel with his fingers. “Tell me what you want.”

 

For some reason, the lack of endearment on that response hurts. “All on me, then?”

 

“Should it be all on me?” Adaar gives that one sided shrug again. “I thought I’d been clear about where I stand.”

 

Dorian sighs. “I _like_ you. More than I should. More than might be wise.” He can’t quite look at Adaar. “We end it here, I walk away. I won’t be pleased, mind, but I’d rather now than later. Later might be dangerous.”

 

“Dangerous?” Adaar has plucked a cord out of the tassel and is unravelling it. He’s not looking at Dorian when Dorian sneaks a peek from under his lashes.

 

Dorian forces himself to breathe before he answers. “Walking away might be harder, then.”

 

Adaar tosses the pillow aside. “Please, look at me, Kadan.” Dorian does, though it’s hard. “I want more than just fun. I will whether it’s just you and I or if Bull decides to join us. I am madly, deeply in love with you, Dorian Pavus. That’s not going to change.” Dorian just stares at him for several long moments. “Speechless again, I see?” Adaar’s smile is crooked.

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever quite manage to hear you say that without becoming speechless. I’m still having trouble getting used to being able to hope for more. I’m sure it seems foolish to you.”

 

“So, let’s be foolish.” Adaar smiles at him.

 

“Hard habit to break,” Dorian replies, wryly.

 

“I’m good at breaking things.” Adaar grins at him.

 

“Not everything, I hope.” Doran shakes his head at himself as soon as he’s said it. Now he’s just being maudlin.

 

Adaar puts a hand over his heart, though, when he pushes him back onto the bed. “Some things are precious enough to deserve special care.” He pulls Dorian close and kisses him.

 

Dorian needs to break this mood. “Care to inquisit me again? ...I could be more explicit about my desires this time.”

 

“Show off,” Adaar laughs.

 

“You have _no idea_ ,” Dorian grins back at him. Adaar’s eyebrows go up, clearly intrigued, but Dorian’s stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly.

  
Adaar laughs. “Breakfast first.”


	15. Chapter 15

They break their fast in Adaar’s quarters. Dorian blushes when Adaar peels a grape and presses it to his lips. He chews slowly and swallows. “I noticed it was harder for you to talk to Bull about your parents,” he says, speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully.

 

Adaar sighs, his eyes clouding over with sadness. He nods. “It’s very likely that it was the Ben-Hassrath that caught up to my parents. Humans, either raiders or templars, would have eaten the food, slaughtered and eaten the animals. Possibly lived in the cottage, if they were raiders. Instead, everything was burned. The Qun thinks of demons as a kind of contagion. Everything was burned like someone was trying to stop it from spreading.” He presses a purple berry to Dorian’s lips, but doesn’t meet his eyes. “Bull probably understood that from the context. I was worried he’d try to say it was the right thing to do, because the Qun demanded it. I wouldn’t be able to do _this_ if he had.” His free hand makes an encompassing motion that Dorian takes to mean the three of them, in a relationship.

 

Dorian swallows, hard. “I... I hadn’t considered that he might,” he replies. “It’s not too late to retract the offer, Adaar. This is not something you have to do for me.”

 

Adaar just smiles. “I seem to enjoy the company of complicated, conflicted men.” He taps a strawberry against the tip of Dorian’s nose before holding it to his lips. Dorian takes a bite, and Adaar eats the rest. “Bull wants something the Qun can’t offer him, or he wouldn’t have asked me to ask him again.” He looks down, rubbing his thumb across Dorian’s lips, stained by the berries. “I think the potential is worth the risk. Do you?”

 

“You’re risking much more than I am, Amatus,” Dorian rasps. “But you aren’t risking this,” he puts his hand over Adaar’s and leans his cheek into them, “either way.”

 

Adaar favors him with a cocky grin.. “Then I can’t possibly lose.” He leans in to kiss Dorian softly. “Speaking of Bull,” he continues, sounding more businesslike, “we’re headed to the Coast to meet his contacts. I know you’re not quite ready for battle.” He traces the spidery marks on Dorian’s arm with gentle fingertips. “I’d like it if you made the trip anyway. I have a bad feeling about this alliance. Obviously they’re testing me to see if I’m worthy of trusting, but I feel sure they’re testing Bull’s loyalty as well. I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Of course, Amatus. I can’t say I was looking forward to being left at Skyhold to worry about you, anyway.” Dorian smiles at Adaar reassuringly. “You mentioned you didn’t like them dictating the tactics. Is that what’s giving you a bad feeling?”

 

Adaar nods. “When I joined the Valo-Kas, the captain was struggling to keep control. He was a good man, but some of the mercenaries thought we could be making more money if he were less scrupulous. We took a job- rob someone the ringleader of the captain’s opposition had a personal vendetta with. The captain told him he could have his revenge, if he did it in single combat.” Adaar smiles slightly. “He wasn’t prepared. Once the ringleader was dead, the captain shook the mark’s hand, and we left. He dictated the terms, and his enemy ended up dead without a direct confrontation. His men quieted down, never knowing exactly how the captain would have them taken out if he thought they were a problem. Very smart man, that captain. This... feels similar. Bull’s too valuable for the Ben-Hassrath to want him dead, but they’ll want to... ensure his loyalty.” He rubs at the muscles around his eyes. “To them over the Inquisition, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just getting paranoid.” He smiles crookedly.

 

“Have you spoken to your Spymaster? She’s probably the most qualified to tell you whether it’s just paranoia,” Dorian points out.

 

Adaar peels another grape, nodding as he presses it to Dorian’s lips. “I have.  She’ll be arriving with her agents, some healers and probably Vivienne, Cassandra and Sera, after we’ve left with the Qunari agent. They want me there with a small group, and I’m not comfortable with that. The troops may scare the Venatori from the area, but I’d prefer to have more backup than they’re expecting.”

 

Dorian nods. “That doesn’t sound unreasonable to me, if that helps.”

 

Adaar smiles and kisses him. “It does.” There’s a knock at the door. Adaar’s smile melts away, and he sighs. “Time’s up, I suppose.”

 

Dorian reaches up to cup his cheek. “I’ll be with you. You won’t miss me.” He gives Adaar a tiny smile.

 

Adaar smiles back.

***

 

Bull sticks close to the Chargers on the ride to the coast. Krem catches Dorian watching and rolls his eyes. Bull is mother-henning them. Clearly Adaar isn’t the only one worried. Dorian resolves to keep an eye on the Chargers. Bull is the most likely to know where the threat lies, and if he’s worried about the Chargers, then he feels they’re the at risk. He’d be fussing over Adaar if he was the vulnerable one. Dorian catches up to Adaar, nudging him to point it out. Adaar looks, and nods, but doesn’t say anything. It’s all very cloak and dagger.

 

They set up camp. Bull watches the trees and the waterline while they put up the tents. Adaar puts his a bit further away than the rest. Dorian is curious about that, as Adaar usually prefers that they all stay close. It doesn’t seem like a good time to ask, so Dorian goes to check on Bull.

 

Bull is patrolling the perimeter of the camp. “Our Qunari contact should be here to meet us,” he says, clearly concerned.

 

An elf steps out of the brush, startling Bull and Dorian both. “He is,” he grins at Bull. “Good to see you, Hissrad.”

 

 _Hissrad?_ Dorian thinks, blinking in confusion.

 

“Gatt!” Bull exclaims throwing his arms up in pleased surprise. “Last I heard you were still in Seheron.”

 

The elf shrugs. “They finally decided I’d calmed down enough to go back into the world.”

 

Adaar clears his throat. Bull turns to him. “Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron.

 

Gatt inclines his head politely, if a little stiffly. “Inquisitor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Hissrad’s reports say you’re doing good work.”  
  
“Hissrad?” Adaar asks, and Dorian is instantly wary. His tone was pleasant enough, but Dorian knows Adaar well enough to feel the anger he is hiding. There’s a lot of it just now.

 

Gatt tells him, “Under the Qun we use titles, not names.” Adaar clearly knows that, though. Dorian keeps quiet. He’s not sure what’s going on.

 

Bull breaks in before Gatt can continue. He seems a little nervous, to Dorian. Odd. Bull doesn’t get nervous, as far as Dorian knows. “My title was Hissrad, because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it as ‘keeper of illusions’ or...”

 

“Liar,” Gatt cuts him off. “It means Liar.” He’s trained a look on Bull Dorian doesn’t quite understand, half glare, half challenge.

 

It looks like it hurt Bull, whatever it was. “Well you don’t have to say it like _that_ ,” He replies.

 

“He didn’t have to say it at all,” Adaar adds. “I’m not ignorant, despite what you may have been told of the Tal-Vashoth.” He takes a breath and lets it out, some of the anger going with it. “It’s nice to know my friends say good things about me in their secret spy reports, though,” he continues, clearly trying to put the conversation back on better ground.

 

“He does... but they aren’t really secret, are they?” Gatt is clearly not in the conversation to negotiate right now.

 

Bull tries to intervene, “Look, Gatt...”

 

Gatt seems to have remembered his job. “Relax. Unlike our superiors, I understand how it works out here.” Bull relaxes, and Gatt continues. “We’re in this together. The Tevinter Imperium is bad enough without the interference of this Venatori cult.” Dorian aches to say something in defense of his homeland, but Adaar is still tense. And whatever Tevinter may or may not be, he at least agrees the Venatori are not an improvement. He holds his tongue. “If this new form of lyrium helps them seize power in Tevinter, the war with Qunandar could get worse.”

 

Bull agrees. “With this stuff, the Vints could turn their slaves into an army of magical freaks.” Bull doesn’t even look in Dorian’s direction. “We could lose Seheron, and see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here.” Dorian wonders who he’s trying to convince.

 

“The Ben-Hassrath agree. That’s why we’re here.” Gatt says, with a slight emphasis on we. Bull looks sharply at him. “Our dreadnaught is safely out of view, and out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We’ll need to take out the Venatori and then signal the dreadnaught so it can take out the smuggler’s ship.”

 

“What if there are mages on the Venatori ship?” Adaar asks. “If the dreadnaught can’t handle them...” he lets the question trail off.

 

“It’s unlikely there will be more than a couple,” Gatt replies, dismissing Adaar’s concern, “and they’ll be gone by the third shot. On land, a half dozen Venatori could take out the dreadnaught.”

 

“Why not attack on open water, then? Blockade the bay.” Adaar is clearly not comfortable with the plan.

 

“A smuggling ship can outrun a dreadnaught. We might not be able to take it out before it got past us.” Gatt replies. “We need to catch them close to shore.

 

Adaar looks at Bull when Gatt says “might” They’re taking a lot of risks because other, safer plans aren’t 100% certain. “We could have had more Inquisition forces here. I know the entire army would tip off the smugglers, but we didn’t need to be this outnumbered.” He turns to Bull, cutting Gatt out of the conversation. “I don’t like this. What do you think?”

 

The show of who Adaar trusts in this situation is clearly not lost on Bull. He makes a worried sound, looking out over the water. Hmm. “Don’t know. I’ve never liked covering a dreadnaught run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. If the scouts underestimated enemy numbers, we’re dead. If we can’t lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead.” He looks back at Adaar. “It’s risky.”

 

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?” Gatt interrupts before Bull can say more. Bull looks at him angrily. Dorian wishes he understood what the battle Bull seems to be fighting with him is about. He doesn’t want Bull to have to fight it alone. All he can do is not make it worse, though, so he stays quiet.

 

Adaar looks at Bull when he speaks. “Let’s go hold up our end of the bargain then.”

 

“My agents suggested two possible locations the Venatori may be camped to guard the shore. There and there,” he points. Adaar is starting to look angrier. Gatt smiles slightly as he continues. “We’ll have to split up and hit them both at once.”

 

Bull crosses his arms. “I’ll come with you, Boss. Krem can lead the Chargers. Let me fill him in. Come by when you’re ready to move.” He turns his back on Gatt and goes to where the Chargers are readying their weapons.

Adaar bows to the elf, stiff and formal. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to leave some instructions with my people.” When Gatt shows no inclination to move, he adds, “Privately.”

Gatt heads toward Bull and the Chargers, and Adaar draws Dorian away, toward the shore where the crashing waves will mask their words. “As soon as we’re out of earshot, I want you to send a runner to Leliana. She’s up the road past the big hill. She’s hidden, but her scouts should be able to find her. Tell her to protect the Chargers. Tell her Bull is with me, all right?”

 

Dorian is worried. “Of course. Are you sure you’ll be safe, Amatus?”

 

Adaar just nods. “The Alliance is something they want. And Bull’s information is valuable to them. They won’t risk either of them. I’ll be just fine, Kadan. You just make sure Leliana gets the message.” He squeezes Dorian’s hand, and goes to collect Bull. Dorian waits until he can’t hear Bull’s low rumble of a voice any more, and then he sends the runner.

 

He can see where the Chargers have been sent from camp, and he climbs a little way up the hill himself, for a better vantage point. Leliana joins him as the Chargers are mopping up the first wave. “Do you know what’s happening? Adaar seemed to think the tents might have ears.”

 

“Not precisely, but the Inquisitor’s instincts are usually very good, no?” She smiles. “He was right about you, after all.”

 

Dorian blushes, but doesn’t reply. Leliana is actually more terrifying when she’s being friendly. They watch the battle in silence for a while. The Chargers send their signal up, and then one goes up from the distant cliffs.It seems to be over, and the Chargers regroup as the dreadnaught moves in. Then, as if from nowhere, more Venatori appear on the beach. Too many. Dorian stands, ready to run down to the beach, but Leliana puts a hand on his arm.

 

“Cassandra, Sera and Vivienne are already there, Dorian. And some of my agents. The Chargers will be fine.” And indeed, Dorian hears the horns from the cliff, calling for the Chargers to retreat. As if it were their signal and not the Chargers, the Venatori split into two groups. Several mages turn to take out the dreadnaught. More pursue the Chargers down the beach. Dorian can hear screaming, but he can’t tell, at this distance, whose side it’s coming from. The dreadnaught explodes, and both he and Leliana duck reflexively, though they are too far away for any debris to reach them.

 

He turns to Leliana in shock. “The alliance...”

 

“If the price had been the Chargers, the Inquisitor wouldn’t have wanted it, Dorian. It will be all right.” She sits him down, pulls the kettle from the edge of the fire and pours him some hot tea. “Adaar and Bull will need you when they return.” She closes his hands around the cup. “Drink.”

 

He does, wondering if Krem is all right. Adaar seems to have the ability to survive the ridiculously impossible, so Dorian saves his worry for his friend. It doesn’t occur to him to worry about Bull until he returns to the camp. The healers have already headed down to the battlefield and sent word back that none of the injuries are critical, but Bull doesn’t seem to hear, and storms down to the beach. The healers must have already been on the way back. They return almost as soon as Bull leaves. Bull doesn’t come back with them, but Dorian is distracted when they bring Krem in on a litter. His leg is badly burned and something has pierced the chestpiece of his armor. He’s having trouble breathing. He reaches out and Dorian takes his hand. “I’m here, Lautus.” It’s a stupid, inane thing to say, but  Krem closes his eyes and squeezes his hand.

 

Dorian doesn’t let go unless the healers make him. They let him come back after they pry the armor of him because Krem is restless. He sings softly, things his nanny sang, old Tevene songs, barroom ditties. Anything to let Krem know he’s not alone. Eventually the healers have done all they can do, they leave Krem to rest. “I sent for your parents, Lautus,” Dorian whispers to him. “You have to be all right. They’ll be here soon. You wouldn’t believe what I had to trade to ensure their safe passage. I will be very put out if you die before they get here, understand?” He strokes Krem’s hair, which is a little overlong. “I’ll cut this for you when you wake up. So hurry up.” He curls up by Krem’s head. He doesn’t mean to sleep, but he dozes off listening to the buzz of voices in other tents.

 

The surgeon comes in after dark. “Dorian,” she smiles at him. “The Inquisitor is looking for you. I’ll stay with Krem.”

 

“Thank you, um...” Dorian flounders. “I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I only know your title. I should probably know your name if you’re going to be saving the lives of my friends.” He favors her with a charming smile.

 

“Miranda, and the last time you saw me you were either unconscious or in a great deal of pain.” She smiles and offers her hand. “I’ll stay with Krem. You’ve done a wonderful job keeping him calm. I’ll make sure someone lets you know if anything changes. Go, your Inquisitor doesn’t need any more worry. I worry about his heart.”

“So do I,” Dorian smiles back at her. His smoothes Krem’s hair one last time, and goes to find Adaar.

 

Adaar is standing by the fire with Leliana, going over reports. Dorian comes close, but doesn’t interrupt. Adaar bumps his shoulder and Dorian smiles up at him. “How’s Krem?”

 

“It’s not pretty, but the surgeon doesn’t seem to think it’s mortal. She was about equally worried that your heart would give out from all the worrying you do.” Dorian leans into the arm Adaar wraps around him in response. “Have you eaten?”

 

Adaar shakes his head, so Dorian pulls away and goes to figure out what there is to feed the two of them. There’s a tiny bit of stew left, and some apples and bread. Dorian confiscates all of it, and takes it to the fire. He cuts up an apple, handing the pieces to Adaar one at a time, listening to Adaar and Leliana plan for the fallout from today’s battle. He puts the little bit of stew on a chunk of bread and gives that to Adaar, too. He eats an apple and some bread himself. Leliana rolls up reports and maps and prepares to send her agents on missions.

 

Dorian stands and offers Adaar his hand. “Bedtime for Inquisitors. I forbid you from worrying any more tonight.”

 

Adaar takes his hand and allows himself to be helped to his feet. “Well if Altus Pavus forbids it...” He grins at Dorian, who shoves him in the direction of his tent.

 

“Why did you set this up all the way out here?” Dorian loops his arm through Adaar’s as they walk.

 

“I was hoping if Bull needed solace, he would feel more comfortable seeking it out with us if we were away from the others.” Adaar sighs.

 

“You knew?” Bull asks, stepping from the shadows.

 

“I suspected,” Adaar says, stopping a few feet from Bull. “I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to make it happen by inclining you to distrust your people.” Adaar opens his arms to Bull, utterly defenseless in that moment. “I’m so sorry, Bull.”

 

Bull strides forward, and Dorian is honestly afraid for a moment that Bull means to strike him, but he takes Adaar’s face in both his hands instead and kisses him, fiercely, desperately. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You were right.” He turns to Dorian. “Krem?” His voice breaks on the word.

 

“Hurt,” Dorian replies. “The surgeon is with him. She doesn’t seem too worried. He’ll probably heal before you can come up with another terrible joke to make out of his name.”

 

Bull pulls him close with one large hand spread across his back, kissing him too. “In the tent, gentlemen. I’m sure we’ve caused enough talk today.” Dorian says breathlessly when Bull releases him.

  
Adaar laughs softly and holds the flap open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long. I just found out I was accepted to grad school. I might have lost my shit a little. But I'm back now. This is a plotty chapter, a little short, not really much smut. Next chapter will probably be talky with maybe the OT3 smut we've all been waiting for, should all go well. Yaaaay!


	16. Chapter 16

There’s some shuffling as they move all the bedding together so it will hold the three of them. Bull keeps rubbing at the spots where his horns meet his head, though, and Adaar sits on a stool, and pulls Bull down to sit between his knees. Dorian, who has seen Adaar with a similar itch, hands him his pack without being asked. Adaar pulls out a small tin and starts rubbing the fragrant balm into Bull’s horns. “Horn balm? Varric told me he couldn’t get any of that.”

 

“I made it,” Adaar tells him. “Inan made some improvements to my mother’s recipe. Smells better than the shit they used to sell in Kirkwall.”

 

Bull nods. “That’s for sure. I heard they got the grease from that place with the fried candy. Sugar made it gritty, too.” He grimaces, remembering. “I didn’t know you were an alchemist.”

 

Adaar shrugs. “M’not.” He rubs harder at a ragged spot near the curve of Bull’s horn, and Bull sighs, his eyes closing and shoulders relaxing. Dorian insinuates himself into Bull’s lap and Bull cards thick fingers through his hair. “I can kinda do a lot of things, if I need to. I can sharpen an axe or my staff blade, but I’m not a smith. Tried to get the alchemists at Skyhold to make it, but they have some really human ideas about what’s acceptable as balm. Doesn’t really work on horns.” He starts on the other horn, and Bull makes a low, rumbling sound of pleasure. Dorian presses his hand to Bull’s chest just to feel it, and Bull cracks one eye open and smiles softly at him.

 

Dorian smiles back, contented. “I suppose that means I don’t want to know what’s in it?”

 

Adaar shrugs. “Some sort of fat, wax, elfroot. embrium tincture, spiced oil, dragon’s blood if you can get it. wyvern blood if not.” Adaar finishes and wipes his hands on a rag. “Lavender or some other flower to make it smell good. Rosemary, maybe, I like the way that smells.”  He rubs Bull’s shoulders. “More like cooking than alchemy really.”

 

“That’s fancier than the stuff they sell in Qunandar, even.” Bull shakes his head a little, checking the feel of his horns. “Seems worth it to me though. Usually they’re at least a little itchy.”

 

“Easier to learn the mental discipline parts of magic when they aren’t.”  Adaar smiles.

 

Dorian is starting to feel like they’re avoiding a topic of conversation. He’s pretty sure he knows what it is. “So when are the two of you going to tell me what I missed today? There was something off about the conversation with agent before the battle, and now everything is...” Dorian takes a deep breath. “Different.”

 

Bull sighs. “I defied the Qun to save the Chargers. I’m Tal-Vashoth. _Tal-Va-fucking-shoth_.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

Adaar squeezes the back of his neck, and Bull stills. Dorian smiles softly, knowing how that gesture feels. “We’re the Inquisition because fanaticism is tearing the world apart, Bull. You did the right thing. We don’t sacrifice our people to prove our loyalty.”

 

“I know, Boss. I just.... I spent years in Seheron, fighting Tal-Vashoth. I killed hundreds of them. Bandits, murderers, bastards who turned their back on the Qun.” Bull goes from anger to pure, devastated sadness in the blink of an eye. “And now I’m one of them.”

 

Dorian takes Bull’s hand and cradles it in both of his, tracing the lines in his palm. He speaks slowly, and softly, struggling with the words. “I don’t think the Qun, or the Chantry, or all of Tevinter is worth Krem’s life, Carissmus.” He can’t quite meet Bull’s eyes. “And if you had chosen the Qun over him I don’t think I would be... good.” He’s going to rub scented oil into Bull’s hands when they get back to Skyhold. His skin could use some care. It’s rough and cracked. He’s having more trouble finding words than he usually does. “I also don’t think that you’d ever really be... ours. The Qun wouldn’t allow for that, would it?”

 

Bull just shakes his head when Dorian finally looks up, looking into Dorian’s eyes like there’s some truth he could find there that Dorian wouldn’t speak. He lets Dorian massage his hand, and there’s a long silence. Adaar just keeps rubbing Bull’s neck.

 

Dorian pulls Bull down into a kiss. “You’re not Tal-Vashoth,” he murmurs against Bull’s lips. “That word belongs to the Qun, and you don’t any more. You’re ours, Carissmus.”

 

Bull pulls him close, kissing him desperately, like he could mark himself theirs with Dorian’s lips. Dorian wraps his arms around Bull’s neck and kisses back, slowly, gentling Bull’s desperation. _There’s time_.

 

“One of you is going to have to tell me what Carissmus means, eventually.” Adaar says, at some point after the kissing has made Dorian a little dizzy. He sounds amused.

 

Dorian smiles, stroking Bull’s scarred cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Darling,” he breathes. Bull’s face crinkles into a smile. Adaar’s answering smile is interrupted by a yawn.

 

“Bedtime.” Dorian says. Bull grins widely at him, and Dorian shoves at him playfully. “You’ll have to wait until we get back to Skyhold for that. The Inquisitor needs rest.”

 

Bull’s smile gentles as he looks up at Adaar. “Sleep, then. Should I...” Bull trails off, looking toward the tent flap.

 

Dorian rolls his eyes and gets up. “We’ve moved the furniture, such as it is. Don’t even pretend we’d let you leave.”

 

Bull rises to his feet and kisses Dorian again, leaving him breathless. The three of them tumble into bed, Adaar on the left, Bull next to him. Dorian starts out on the right, but Bull’s horn keeps catching his hair and pulling at it. Bull pulls him up so Dorian is lying on his chest and pulls a blanket over both of them. It’s surprisingly comfortable. Adaar leans in from where his head is resting on Bull’s shoulder and kisses first Dorian, and then Bull. There’s a minimum of fuss after that and they all sleep.

***

 

Miranda comes to get him in the morning. “Dorian, Krem is asking for you.” She’s smiling, so that’s probably good news.

 

“How is he?” Dorian asks, shrugging into his cloak and following her. It’s still a little chilly in the mornings on the Storm Coast, even in early summer. He offers Miranda his arm.

 

“Surprisingly well, considering.” Miranda takes it, leaning in to him companionably. “The burns are uninfected, and whatever pierced his armor only caused a flesh wound. He’s still having trouble breathing occasionally, but that seems to be caused by muscle spasms, probably a reaction to the pain. He breathes better when he’s relaxed.” Miranda stops outside the tent he left Krem in last night. “I was wondering if you’d consider staying with him for the ride back to Skyhold. He’s not fond of the healers, or their potions.”

 

“Understandable, considering.” Dorian completes the thought. “Of course I will. I’ll check in with him, and then let the Inquisitor know.” He squeezes her hand before he lets her go. “Thank you so much, Miranda.”

 

She squeezes back. “Thank you. I wish all my patients had friends like you. I’d have fewer grey hairs.” She smiles and pecks him on his blushing cheek, and continues on her rounds.

 

Dorian ducks inside the tent. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, folding himself into a sitting position near Krem’s head.

 

“They tell me you stayed with me, after the battle.” Krem says.

 

“Of course I did, Lautus. You were hurt.” Dorian brushes it off with gesture.

 

Krem makes a harrumphing sound. Clearly he doesn’t buy Dorian’s nonchalance, but other than the grumpy sound, he lets it drop. “Did I say anything stupid?”

 

Dorian laughs. “No, Lautus. That was all me.”

 

Krem raises and eyebrow. “Such as?”

 

He laughs again. “You’ll have the entire ride back to Skyhold to pry it out of me, Krem. Promise. Let me go let Bull and the Inquisitor know what’s happening. Maybe I’ll even drag Bull back to visit with you. Depends on how much mess there will be to clean up, I suspect.”

 

Krem’s eyebrow goes up even further, if at all possible. “Mess?”

“Everyone’s alive. I’m fairly certain everyone but you and Stitches are mobile, and his is just a sprained ankle, if I recall. He can sit a horse, still. Everyone else just has cuts and bruises.” Dorian stands. “You want me to bring you back breakfast?”

 

Krem nods. “Pretty sure I won’t want to eat much once I’ve been rattled around the back of a cart for a few hours,” he grimaces.

 

“At least you’ll have the pleasure of m company, Lautus.” Dorian grins at him. “And I’ll even peel your grapes. I’ll return momentarily.” He leaves with a flourish, because he knows it will make Krem grin, even if he can’t see it.

 

He finds Adaar, Bull, and Leliana standing formally by the fire. The elf Bull had called Gatt stands opposite them. “Inquisitor. It is my duty to inform you that there will be no alliance between our peoples. Nor will you be receiving any more Ben-Hassrath reports from your _Tal-Vashoth_ ally.”

 

Bull uncrosses his arms and stands at the ready. Dorian feels the magic crackling at his fingertips, unbidden. “You under orders to kill me, Gatt?”

 

The elf shakes his head. “No. The Ben-Hassrath have already lost one good man.” To his credit, he actually looks sad. “They’d rather not lose two.” He bows, a very purposeful shade short of formal, and leaves.

 

“So much for that,” Bull sighs.

 

“I’m proud of you, Bull.” Adaar tell him.

 

Bull makes an amused sound. _Heh_. “Thanks, Boss.” He looks a little lost, anyway.

 

Dorian comes close and leans into him. “It’s not too late. I could send him home with his pants aflame.” Bull puts an arm around him and laughs for real. “I’m riding home with Krem,” he tells Bull and Adaar. He looks up at Bull. “You should see him before we leave.”

 

Bull nods. “He was still sleeping when I got back yesterday.” He kisses the top of Dorian’s head. “I’ll go now.”

 

“Bring him some breakfast,” Dorian smiles and leans into the kiss. He feels a little selfish being this happy when Krem is hurt. He’ll have to make up for it by being extra entertaining on the ride home.

Bull picks him up and swings him over to Adaar like he’s a small child. Dorian glowers, but can’t stay angry when Adaar wraps his arms around him. Dorian basks in the affection. Again, selfish. This hasn’t been the best day for the Inquisition, either. He is a terrible human being and probably deserves to be a pariah. He should be offering help, or comfort or... Adaar’s hand goes to the back of his neck and squeezes, and Dorian stops caring. His eyes close. He can always self-flagellate later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is moving a little more slowly than I intended. Forgive me. Another short chapter, but hopefully real life will become less turbulent soon.


	17. Chapter 17

By the time he’s finished indulging himself, Krem is already settled in the wagon. “Sorry, Lautus. I really did mean to return immediately.”

 

“S’all right,” Krem replies. “The Chief told me you needed to make kissy faces at the Inquisitor, first.” He grins at Dorian. “ _Two_ qunari. You trying to make the entire magisterium die of shock at once?”

 

Dorian blushes furiously, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. The wagon rumbles up the hill. “It’s not really like that,” he mumbles.

 

“Hey,” Krem puts a hand on Dorian’s knee. “I’m teasing. I’ve never seen the Chief glow before.”

 

Dorian puts a hand over Krem’s. “Glow?”

 

Krem nods thoughtfully. “I didn’t think he’d be happy to leave the Qun. He never talked about it much, but I could tell it was something he was proud of, deep down. And he says he’s upset, and that’s probably true, too.” Krem shifts, and Dorian folds his cloak up and offers it as a pillow. “But he talks about you, and there’s something underneath. I’d say he seems content, but that doesn’t seem strong enough. There’s something bone deep there. I don’t think leaving the Qun will do him any lasting damage.” Krem grins again. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m glad not to be dead.”

 

Dorian curls up next to Krem, tucking his head against Krem’s shoulder, so his face is hidden. “I’m glad you’re not dead too, you great clanking lummox.” Krem presses his cheek to the top of Dorian’s head, and Dorian knows he understands.

 

They stare up at the clouds in silence for a while before Krem remembers. “What did you say that was stupid?”

 

Dorian had been hoping he’d forget. “I told you about something. Something I did.” He focuses on a cloud he thinks might be shaped like a nug. “Something I’m not sure you’ll be pleased with me for.”

 

Krem props himself up on one arm, blocking Dorian’s view of the nug-cloud. “Did you paint my armor pink?”

 

“Where would I get pink paint in the middle of a battle with the Venatori on the Storm coast?” Dorian returns the question, incredulously.

 

“You’d pull it out of your ass, or the fade or whatever it is you mages do,” Krem answers, grinning.

 

Dorian smiles back, tentatively. “I arranged to bring your parents to Skyhold.”

 

Krem’s eyes go big and round. “...my parents?”

 

Dorian nods, bracing himself.

 

“Both of them?” Krem is looking at Dorian, and Dorian still isn’t sure if he’s angry or not.

 

Dorian nods again. “My father made the arrangements, so I’m sure they’ll hate me by the time they get here, but he wields a great deal of power. I told him they were to travel in the style he himself is accustomed to, and he was to arrange for their meals and protection the entire way.”

 

Krem gaze gets sharper. “And what did you offer Magister Pavus in exchange for all of that?”

 

“What he wants. Me. For a year. Short of blood magic, or something else permanent, I’ll be at his disposal.” Dorian shrugs, trying to look like the idea doesn’t terrify him.

 

“Dorian...” Krem just looks shocked.

 

“I couldn't guarantee their safety otherwise.” One shoulder lifts, and he forces the other one up rather than think about Adaar just then.

 

Krem clears his throat. “You didn't have to do this. We were already friends.”

 

“That’s precisely why I had to do it. I couldn't rightly stand by while you married Lessa, knowing I had the power to get your parents there and hadn't even tried.” Dorian shrugs again.

 

“We're not even really courting, Dorian,” Krem says incredulously.

 

“Well I was hoping to be back before the wedding.” Dorian smirks a little.

 

“...The Chief and the Inquisitor don’t know, do they?” Krem flops back into the hay, stroking Dorian’s hair.

 

“No. Not yet. I’m trusting that you’ll let me tell them in my own time.” Dorian doesn’t look at Krem when he says it. He knows keeping it from them is wrong.

 

Krem sighs. “You’re an idiot, Pavus. When?”

 

“Not until this is over. Even my father understands that Corypheus is a threat. I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t join the Venatori.” He ignores the cold, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Krem leans up and kisses him on the cheek, pulling him close and not letting go. “You’re the stupidest, most pigheaded, idiot of a best friend a grunt like me could ask for. You scare me witless, and if you get hurt in Tevinter, I’m only going to be a step behind Bull and the Inquisitor when they come to burn the place down.”

 

Dorian tucks his head under Krem’s chin. “I’m counting on it, Lautus. I’m counting on it.”

***

 

The ride back to Skyhold is uneventful. There are fewer demons on the road every day. The group on horseback catches up to them after a few hours. Bull is laughing when he and Sera pull alongside. Dorian smiles and sits up. Sera looks irritated. “What’s so funny about that?” she huffs.

 

Bull is trying to stop chuckling, and failing. “You aren’t...” he covers the laughter with a cough. “You aren’t really Viddathari material.”

 

“What does that mean? I could be a vidi - vivi one of those things!” Sera’s voice climbs with her anger. “A bloody good one, too.”

 

Bull leans over the side of the wagon to kiss Dorian in lieu of answering. Krem is sleeping, in spite of the bumpy road and people all around. Dorian would be more jealous, but it’s too entirely endearing. “How is he?” Bull enquires.

 

Dorian smiles. “Not unwell, considering. He’ll be joining our post injury training group within a week, I suspect.”

 

Bull opens his mouth to answer, but they’re interrupted by Sera’s snickering. Dorian’s eyebrows go up. “Something particularly funny?”

 

“You.” She looks like she’s about to burst. “And Bull.” Dorian can’t help but smile as she bursts into another round of laughter. Sera can be a little contagious.

 

“I’m glad it amuses you.” Then he realizes that she may take that as an invitation to discuss the relationship in depth. He suspects that will not end well for him. “But what I get from my affairs is...” he clears his throat, “my affair.”

 

“I know what you get,” she sing songs at him. “It’s like falling through a tree into custard.” Her arms flail in a gesticulation Dorian can only assume means falling. Her horse rolls his ears back skittishly. “Too high! WHAM! Too fast! Wham! Leaves! Wham! SPLAT!”

 

Dorian has to pause to take that one in. “...I’m honestly not sure which is worse the mockery or the accuracy,” he replies, dumbfounded.

 

“I wouldn’t know. Certain trees were too busy resting,” Bull needles unrepentantly.

 

“The both of you AND the Inquisitor, hey?” What’s that like? Jousting?” Sera looks intrigued.

 

Dorian sighs and realizes his sex life is going to be a topic of discussion, so he might as well run with it. “Fewer horses, marginally. More cheering, definitely.”

 

Sera cackles, but when she speaks, there’s an unusual sweetness to her tone. “Nice.” She smiles happily at Dorian, like an invitation for him to be happy, too.

 

He smiles back.

***

 

The rhythm of life at Skyhold doesn’t change much. Dorian asks for, and receives permission from the quartermaster to clear out a room for Krem’s parents. He thinks he’s bought himself some time, but it turns out that all that broken timber has slivers. He’s sitting on stool while Miranda plucks slivers from under his skin when Adaar arrives, wielding a pair of heavy canvas gloves. “Last one,” she says, carefully teasing it out and laying her tools aside. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes, at which point I expect my office to be available for patients,” she fixes a stern look at Adaar as she speaks.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Adaar replies softly, taking her seat on the stool, very close to Dorian. He waits until Miranda closes the door behind her to speak. “I hear we’re expecting Krem’s parents,” he opens diplomatically.

 

Dorian nods. He knows the fact that he can’t seem to pull his gaze from the floor screams guilt, but he just can’t. “I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

 

“Why, Dorian?” Adaar’s voice is as gentle as it always is. Dorian flinches anyway. “Why did you keep this from me, Kadan?”

 

Dorian sighs. “I didn’t tell you because I’m not really ready to talk about it,” he tries.

 

A look of confusion crosses Adaar’s face, but it clears before he speaks. “All right,” is all he says.

 

Dorian blinks. “Pardon?” He looks up.

 

“You’re not ready to talk about it.” Adaar brushes fingers gently over his cheek. “I’m not happy about it, but I can respect it.” He searches Dorian’s face. “Just... you know I’ll listen, when you are, right?”

 

Dorian’s mouth opens but he can’t make any sound come out. He closes it again.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Adaar asks, eyes glancing down to his lips. His thumb traces Dorian’s lower lip. He waits for Dorian’s nod before he leans in. Adaar kisses him slowly and softly.

 

“I’m not sure I deserve you.” Dorian murmurs.

 

Adaar leans their foreheads together. “Funny, because I feel the same way about you.”

 

Dorian closes his eyes. “Amatus.”

 

Adaar takes Dorian’s face in both his hands and kisses him. “I love you too, Kadan.” He presses the gloves he brought into Dorian’s hands. “Be more careful with yourself. Maybe Bull can help you?”

 

Dorian nods. “I’ll ask him.”

 

Adaar sighs. “I can’t leave Josie with the Comte Louis for too long. He thinks it’s funny to make things ‘disappear’. Important things. I’m sorry.”

 

Dorian conjures up a smile. “The Inquisitor’s work is never done.”

 

“He’s leaving tomorrow afternoon. Could we maybe...?” Adaar lets the sentence trail off, suddenly shy.

 

Dorian grins. “Shall I ask Bull to join us?”

 

Adaar nods. “I’d like that.”

 

“Tomorrow night, then.” Dorian smiles and kisses Adaar. “Go rescue Josie.” He watches Adaar leaves and breathes out a long sigh.

***

 

He finds Bull slouched in his usual chair at the tavern. He smiles when he sees Dorian, snagging him by the waist and pulling him close for a kiss. Bull pulls Dorian into his lap when the kiss breaks. Dorian perches, blushing, sure the entire bar is looking. “We have a date with Adaar tomorrow night, after the Comte leaves.” He will not fidget. That would just call attention.

 

Bull smiles and squeezes Dorian’s knee. “Think we could have one of our own, tonight?”

 

Dorian’s blush increases in intensity. “Of course,” he nods. “I really should bathe, first.” His stomach flutters and flips. _Free fall_.

 

“I’ll check in on Krem and meet you in my room when you’re done?” Bulls fingers tease his robe open just at the knee, just enough to slide his hand inside. Bull’s skin is warm on his, and Dorian feels hot all over.

 

He doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods and stands. Bull follows suit, and Dorian remembers the night Bull found him on his knees in his room, and how confused he’d felt when Bull walked away. He takes Bull’s arm and doesn’t let go until they have to go their separate ways. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” Dorian tells him, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

 

“You’re worth the wait.” Bull murmurs, and Dorian blushes yet again. Bull kisses him and lets him go.

***

 

Dorian hurries through his ablutions. He’s sweaty and dirty. Possibly more than he usually gets traipsing around after Adaar. Washing all that off takes time, no matter how he rushes. He throws on his nicest smallclothes, and robes to match. Blue really is his color. He tucks a small vial of oil into a pouch on his belt and heads toward Bull’s room. The door is ajar, but he knocks anyway. Bull rumbles “Come in,” from inside, so he does.

 

Clearly Bull decided to tidy while he waited. Dirty sheets in a basket in the corner say the ones on the bed are fresh, and there is a very nice bottle of wine on a table with rolls and fruit. “You’ll spoil me,” Dorian tells Bull when he comes close. He’s barechested, without even the leather strapping he usually wears.

 

Bull grins at him. “Pretty sure that’s in the job description. Besides, I’m kind of hoping to go more than once. You’ll need the energy.” His grin gets wider.

 

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Presumptuous oaf,” he says, without heat.

 

“You like it.” Bull pulls him close, nuzzling at his neck.

 

“Maker help me,” the heat in his belly keeps his tone from being appropriately sarcastic, but he’s sure Bull gets the point.

 

Bull pulls him toward the bed, which Dorian expected, but sits, patting the bed next to him, which he doesn’t. Dorian sits obligingly. “We should talk, before we get started,” Bull says.

 

Dorian can feel his eyebrows climbing, but he sees no reason to be averse. “All right. What would you like to talk about?”

 

“What you want. The kinds of things you like.” Bull is watching his face closely. the corners of his mouth turn up as he watches the blush creep up Dorian’s neck and into his cheeks.

 

Dorian is flustered. “I... no one’s ever just asked like that before.” He fidgets. “In Tevinter, you might learn what someone likes from experience, but talking... isn’t done. And Adaar has a slightly unnerving tendency to just know.”

 

“I could read you. Tell you what I think. But I’d prefer to hear it from you. If only to be sure this isn’t something you’re only doing to keep the Boss happy.” Dorian can hear the note of insecurity there, and his heart clenches to know he caused it.

 

“When I kissed you, Adaar had nothing to do with it. I genuinely thought he might send me away when I told him. I was rather shocked when he suggested simply including you like it was a simple thing.” He swings himself over Bull’s lap, straddling him, taking Bull’s face in his hands and kissing him. _Soft. Slow. Gentle._ “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. If I didn’t want you.”

 

Bull kisses him back until his smile breaks it. “Glad to hear it.” His hand feels huge and hot against Dorian’s back, even through the robes. “It’s not a bad place to start, though. Why did you kiss me?”

 

Dorian appreciates being eased into it. “Well, it helps that you strut around shirtless all the time,” he smirks at Bull. “That day, though... I’d realized I was going to have to let Adaar go on the next mission without me. I was angry. You stopped me, so I was angry at you, too.” Dorian’s gaze goes distant as he remembers. “When you were rubbing down my arm, I thought about you putting the oil...” he realizes what he’s probably admitting and hesitates, blushing. “Everywhere. And suddenly it was a different kind of frustration.” He grins crookedly.

 

“What happens after I put the oil _everywhere?_ ” Bulls asks him. He purrs the last word in a way that makes Dorian’s skin prickle, but he’s not smirking. He’s watching Dorian, and his gaze is hot and wanting.

 

Dorian takes a slow, shaky breath. “I didn’t get that far at the time, but I can improvise?” Bull gives a small nod, so Dorian continues. He can’t meet Bull’s eyes, so he presses his forehead to Bull’s neck, hiding his face. “I’d like you to tie my hands. Watch me struggle. Tell me...” his voice breaks on the words, and he has to clear his throat before continuing. “Tell me that you like to see me like that. Desperate.” Saying it out loud makes him squirm, his cock twitching and filling under his robes. He trails off, unable to continue.

 

Bull rubs his back. “That’s good. Very good.” Dorian can feel Bull’s smile when his breathing goes ragged at the words. “I’m going to do that to you. Not tonight. But it will happen.” Dorian whimpers, and Bull pulls him back to kiss him. “Preferably when the Boss is around,” he rumbles, biting at Dorian’s lips. “The more eyes on you the better, right?”

 

Dorian can’t really answer in words. He’s trembling at the thought alone. Bull’s mouth works its way down to his neck and his hands tug the buckles on Dorian’s robes open, one by one. Bull kisses his shoulders as he pushes the robe slowly off them, taking advantage of the brush of silk against Dorian’s skin to make him shiver. Dorian is naked in Bull’s lap, save for a scrap of sheer blue silk and his boots. “What about you?” Dorian asks, his fingertips tracing the scars on Bull’s chest. “What do you want?”

 

“Reducing you to a quivering mess sounds good to me,” Bull smiles sweetly, at odds with his words. He lays Dorian on the bed, letting the robes fall to the floor from where they had pooled around him, his eyes raking Dorian’s mostly naked body. He stops when he gets to Dorian’s smallclothes. “Those are...” he trails off, his finger tracing the outline of Dorian’s cock through the material. “Are you wearing these all the time, under your robes?” He leans in, nuzzling Dorian through the cloth.

 

“Sometimes,” he replies breathlessly. “If I run out of the more practical version.” A strangled moan escapes him as Bull licks him through the material. Dorian squirms, and Bull’s hands clamp down on his hips, pressing him into the mattress. Dorian’s fingers scrabble at the sheets as he ineffectually tries to writhe under the onslaught of sensation.

 

Bull flips him over and groans at the view from the other side. Dorian scrambles onto his knees, spreading his legs and arching his back, presenting the best view possible. He’s blushing, but this position is easier because he can hide his face in the pillows. Bull chuckles and playfully slaps his ass. Dorian freezes. No one’s done that to him since he was small. The sting spreads, and his cock twitches with the sensation. He moans, arching higher. “More of that, please.”

 

“If we’re going to play rough, you need a watchword.” Bull puts one finger under the edge of his smallclothes and pulls, lowering them. It’s not enough to bare his entire backside, and when Dorian glances back, Bull’s eyes are glued to the way they are hugging the curve of his ass.

 

 _Maker._ That look might cause him to combust. “Adaar uses Katoh. Will that do?”

 

Bull chuckles and pulls off Dorian’s boots. “It’s exactly what I would have chosen. Good to know.” He tosses the boots toward the door. His hands return to Dorian’s cheeks, gently, rubbing the skin, tracing the line of his smallclothes, sneaking under and into the crevice between his cheeks until his toes are curling in anticipation. The first strike startles a cry out of him. He buries his head in the pillows again to muffle the sound. Bull lets him. “Going to turn your ass a pretty pink color to go with these pretty panties you’re wearing,” Bull rumbles, proceeding to do exactly that.

 

Dorian would protest, but it feels too good. His smallclothes keep his cock trapped as it hardens. Even when it escapes the confines of the material, the head rubs against his stomach every time he rocks forward, trapped tight against his belly.  Dorian reaches down to give it a squeeze, but that puts him much too close to coming. He goes back to grappling the pillow.

 

His skin must have reached the right shade, because Bull stops, tugging his smallclothes back up, and rubbing the reddened skin through them. “Wish I had a mirror. You look...” Bull ends the sentence with a hungry sound. Dorian can feel his cock twitch. There’s a rustling behind him and when Dorian looks back, Bull is taking off his pants. _Finally_. “Want you to ride me while I grab on to that pretty pink ass of yours.”

 

Dorian groans. “Then hurry up and get over here, you lummox.” Bull laughs and comes closer, slapping Dorian’s ass again. Dorian’s head drops to the bed and he moans.

 

Bull takes Dorian’s ass in both hands, pressing his cheeks apart, pushing his cock into the silk-covered space between them. “Just for that, I’m going to take my time about opening you up.  Think I can make you beg?”

 

Dorian makes a frustrated noise and grinds back against Bull. Two can play at that game. Bull makes a deep, hungry noise, and Dorian’s underwear come down and off in two efficient movements. Dorian smiles triumphantly into the pillow, but only for a moment as Bull presses one thick, oiled finger to his entrance. Bull’s fingers are huge, and the stretch burns, but Dorian is just that much more turned on by the hint of pain. He pushes back against Bull’s fingers, making hungry, obscene noises.

 

“Uh uh uh, greedy,” Bull says, gripping Dorian’s hip with his free hand, holding him still. He teases Dorian open, sliding his finger in and out, occasionally pressing a spot inside that makes Dorian see stars. He struggles against Bull’s restraining hand and gets his ass slapped again for his trouble. “Don't make me stop and go find some rope, because I will.”

 

“That assumes I’d wait for you.” Dorian wriggles, fighting Bull’s grip. “Next time, be more prepared.”

 

Bull chuckles softly in his ear. “I will. I’ll tie you in knots before we even start, next time.” There’s more oil, and another finger pressing at his entrance. Two fingers is almost more than Dorian can take and he whimpers as Bull pushes so, so slowly in.

 

Dorian forgets to resist. “Please.” He arches his back further. “Don’t tease me any more, Bull. I want you.”

 

“We’ll get there,” Bull kisses the spot between his shoulder blades. His fingers move in and out in tiny increments getting a little deeper on every pass. When he’s deep enough to reach, he massages  the spot inside until Dorian’s feet drum the mattress and he’s biting the pillow to keep from screaming. Bull stretches him, scissoring his fingers open. Dorian gulps air, breathing hard. Bull pours more oil over his fingers, adding a third finger. He takes advantage of Bull's distraction to push back, taking all three quickly and panting through the burn. Bull fingers him slowly, stretching him open, making him whimper. The oil leaks out of him and trickles over his balls, and he shivers. Bull pulls his fingers away slowly, rubbing the oil around his puckered entrance.

 

Bull lies down, pulling Dorian on top of him. “Ready to ride the Bull, greedy?” Dorian answers by lining Bull up and pressing the head inside. He’s big. Bigger than three fingers prepared him for. He pushes down and pulls up, taking Bull a little at a time. Bull folds his hands behind his head and watches Dorian struggle with a tiny smirk. “Next time you shouldn’t rush me.” Dorian snarls and takes the last of Bull’s cock in. Bull holds his hips there, forcing Dorian to feel the fullness until he squirms.

 

“Fuck,” Dorian whimpers.

 

Bull chuckles and loosens his hands. “Move when you’re ready.”

 

Dorian breathes. Deep, full breaths. He’s so full it makes him tremble. His legs won’t work. Bull just smirks at him and waits. Eventually Dorian’s throbbing cock forces him to move. He plants his hands on Bulls stomach and slides up and lets gravity pull him back down. He’s left panting. _Too much. Too big_. He whimpers. Bull smacks his ass again and his cock twitches. “Maker, Bull. You’re huge.” Sweat prickles across his brow.

 

“I know.” Bull arches, pushing himself deeper into Dorian. He wraps his hand around Dorian’s cock and Dorian is torn, wanting to push into that pressure, but afraid to move. Bull squeezes, and Dorian breaks, shoving forward into Bull’s hand and letting himself sink backward onto his cock. He repeats the motion, moaning desperately. And again, until Bull’s hands are gripping his hips, moving him up and down. Dorian throws his head back, letting himself be overwhelmed by sensation as Bull fucks him.

 

He can hear himself making obscenely desperate noises, but he can’t stop himself. _Hnh. Hnh_. Dorian’s hands  are spread over Bull’s stomach, but he’s exerting no leverage, just allowing himself to be moved by Bull’s hands. Every inch of his skin is hot and feverish. “If you’re gonna make me do all the work, you’re gonna have to take care of your own cock, Dorian. Show me. Let me see what you need.” Bull pushes Dorian all the way down on his cock, holding him there.

 

Clearly he means to give Dorian no choice but to comply, and Dorian is so far gone he doesn’t even hesitate. His fingers trail up the underside of his cock, soft and delicate. Bull makes a pleased sound as he watches. Dorian trembles under his own touches, over-sensitized. His cock leaks almost as soon as he touches it. He spreads the wetness over the head of his cock, making sparks go up his spine. “Don’t stop,” Bull murmurs, starting to move again, matching his thrusts to Dorian’s slow and gentle touches on his own cock. “You’re so sensitive, slow and gentle is all it takes, hmm?”

  
Dorian’s breath stutters from his chest. his hand faltering. “Gonna come for me?” Bull rumbles. speeding up a little, making Dorian whine with need. He closes his hand around his cock and lets Bull’s thrusts push him into it. Bull’s hands move to his ass, gripping the sore skin, and the tiny edge of pain pushes him over the edge. He comes, crying out, spattering over Bull’s stomach and chest. He doesn’t bother to hold himself up, letting Bull take his weight as he pushes up into Dorian one last time, nearly roaring as his orgasm overtakes him, too.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much porn all the way through.

Dorian lets the world go hazy as Bull lays him back on the bed. He can feel Bull’s fingers carding through his hair, the slightest touch of nails against his scalp making his skin tingle all the way down to his toes. He stretches into the sensation and smiles at the sound Bull makes in reaction. He opens his eyes when Bull holds a water skin to his lips. He hadn’t realized it, but he’s parched. He drinks greedily, wiping away the dribbles with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he says, simply.

 

Bull smiles. “You’re a sweet guy, Dorian.”

 

Dorian can feel a crease forming between his brows. “But?”

 

Bull shakes his head. “No but. I’m just surprised. You’re all bluster out there,” he makes a gesture indicating the world outside. “But behind closed doors...” Bull gently drags his nails down Dorian’s side and over his hip. watching Dorian shiver and arch into the caress hungrily. “I didn’t think you’d ever show me this.”

 

Dorian huffs, amused. Hmph. “Some Ben-Hassrath you are,” Dorian grins at him.

 

“Were. Maybe that’s why I’m unemployed.” Dorian winces a little internally, but Bull doesn’t seem upset. He’s smirking a little. He leans in and kisses Dorian, slow and soft. The sound that catches in his throat makes his skin prickle and Bull runs a soothing hand through his hair. “Give me a minute.” Dorian watches him cross the room as he wets a cloth in the washbasin and returns. He wipes down Dorian’s stomach and cock. Dorian’s eyes flutter closed as he revels in the feeling of being cared for. He lets Bull roll him onto his stomach.

 

Bull runs the cloth between Dorian’s cheeks. He flushes to his toes when he feels Bull’s breath on the back of his thighs and his fingers gently probe between Dorian’s cheeks. “Looks a little sore. Not too bad, though.”

 

“No round two, then?” Dorian’s fingers clench in the pillow. His embarrassment over being so closely examined wars with his disappointment.

 

Dorian can hear the smile in Bull’s voice. “Never said that..” He pushes Dorian’s cheeks a little further apart and his tongue flutters over Dorian’s hole.

 

Dorian makes an undignified noise and scrambles to escape the touch. “What... What are you doing?” Dorian’s voice is at least an octave higher than usual.

 

“Pretty sure that’s obvious. You using your watchword?” He strokes Dorian’s thigh, his voice going soft.

 

“Isn’t that ...dirty? You’re not supposed to take vishante kaffas seriously.” He hides his face in the pillow, embarrassed.

Bull chuckles. “My cock has already been there, Dorian. Katoh?” He kisses the inside of Dorian’s thigh.

 

Dorian shivers. “No.” He pulls his knee closer to his chest.

 

Bull presses himself along Doran’s back. “I’m going to make sure you don’t regret this. Can I tie you up?” His voice is soft and he presses kisses between Dorian’s shoulderblades.

 

“I thought you didn’t have any rope?” Dorian asks, breathlessly. Tied, helpless, Bull’s tongue probing into him... His stomach flips. _Free fall_. He’s not going to get hard again right away, but he aches with the need to.

 

“I’ll improvise.” Bull gently bites his arse cheek. “Say yes?”

 

Dorian’s breath is coming fast and shaky, but he nods. “Yes, Carissmus. I’m yours.”

 

Bull presses his face against Dorian’s back and groans softly.  “So sweet,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of Dorian’s neck. He pulls a cover from one of the pillows and tears it. Dorian’s cock twitches at the sound, but he turns to glare at Bull, because it’s expected of him, really. “Quite the stinkeye you've got going, Dorian,” he grins.

 

Dorian huffs. “You lie there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden, with no thought save conquest.”

 

Bull rewards his complaints by wrapping a shred of pillow covering around his wrists, carefully binding them together. “That’s right,” he says as he uses a second piece to bind them to the headboard. “These big muscled hands could tear your robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip,” he  purrs into Dorian’s ear. “But since you’re not wearing any robes,” he chuckles, tracing the marks on Dorian’s ass from earlier, making Dorian shiver, “I’m going to pin you down, and I will conquer you.”

 

Dorian opens his mouth to say something cutting, but all that escapes is a whimper.  Bull shoves the uncovered pillow under his hips. Dorian spreads his legs as wide as he can and Bull chuckles. “You’re bendy. I like that.” He kisses his way down Dorian’s back. Dorian squirms, testing both his bonds and Bull’s words. Neither gives. Bull’s hands press his hips into the pillow. They’re hot against his skin and the increased pressure on his cock makes him groan. His thumbs press Dorian open. Dorian is very aware of being exposed. He bites the pillow. Bull sucks Dorian’s balls into his mouth one at a time.  Dorian’s toes curl and he stifles a groan.

 

Bull gives him one long lick from his balls right to the base of his spine. His hands shift, nudging Dorian’s cheeks apart. Dorian buries his face in a pillow. Bull’s tongue traces the entrance to his body. He tries to squirm, but Bull’s hands hold him mercilessly still. He feels a stream of warm breath against him and shivers. He’s really very sensitive, but Bull’s tongue is soft as it teases him open that it doesn’t hurt, just heightens the sensation.  Bull’s tongue pushes into him and he’s sure the noise he makes is inhuman. Bull tongue-fucks him until he’s hard again. It takes approximately half of forever. He moans continuously into the pillow. His mouth is dry. Bull tugs gently on his balls and he whimpers.

 

“Ready for more?” Bull’s lips buzz against him. Dorian makes a needy sound in response and pushes back into Bull, who chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He presses an oiled finger into Dorian. He groans loudly. It feels bigger this time. Bull’s tongue presses in beside it. Dorian can’t keep his hips still, grinding shamelessly into the pillow. Bull curls his finger, and Dorian jerks, his entire body suffused with a fiery pleasure he can’t fight. He struggles against his bonds, which reminds him that he’s bound. The thought creates a feedback loop of pleasure. The mental feeding the physical until he’s nearly mad with it - teetering on the brink of climax. Bull lets go of his balls and slaps his ass one last time. Dorian tumbles over the edge, coming with a loud cry, fire leaping from his fingertips as he collapses.

 

Bull leaps up, laughing, to extinguish the curtains. Dorian is still tied to the bed, so he couldn’t help even if his trembling thighs would allow it. Bull leaves the curtains to smoke once the fire is out and pulls a dagger out of nowhere to cut Dorian’s bonds, chafing his hands to make sure the circulation is good, and chuckling. _Hmph_. Dorian grumbles at him, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s sated to the point of exhaustion. “What about you?” Dorian mumbles sleepily.

 

“I’m good, Dorian. Don’t worry about me.” Bull is wiping him down, but Dorian can’t keep his eyes open. Bull curls around him. He’s warm. Dorian drifts a little further. “Thank you, Kadan,” Bull whispers into his hair.

  
“Whafor?” Dorian struggles to stay awake enough to hear the answer to the question. He doesn’t manage it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. The combination of stress and allergies made it so I had to go a few rounds with bronchitis. Better now though. (Somewhat.) Hope y'all haven't missed me too much. Sorry for the shortness. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer.


	19. Chapter 19

It’s morning when Dorian wakes again. Bull isn’t in the bed with him, but he comes through the door with tea and hot breakfast. Dorian stretches and smiles at him. Bull sets the tray down and strokes his side. Dorian wraps himself around Bull, head in his lap, arms around his waist. Bull strokes his hair. “Sorry. Meant to be back before you woke up.”

 

Dorian just makes a content noise into Bull’s belly. Bull strokes his hair, and Dorian dozes a little, feeling warm and comfortable. Bull’s hands are soft in his hair and on his skin. He rouses a little. “You brought me breakfast.” Bull chuckles and nods. “M’hungry.”

 

Bull settles him onto the bed and holds some warm bread to his lips. Dorian nibbles at Bull’s fingers as he takes it, Bull traces his lips with slightly buttery fingers before pulling them away and offering him a forkful of eggs.  Bull feeds him his entire breakfast by hand. “You’re definitely spoiling me,” he tells Bull, full of eggs and bread and fruit.

 

“Told you, it’s in the job description,” Bull smiles down at him. He eats what Dorian didn’t. Dorian watches the muscles in his jaw as he chews bread and egg.

 

“You’re beautiful, you know.” Dorian blurts.

 

Bull laughs. “Beautiful’s not a word that usually gets applied to me.” Dorian watches his eyes crinkle at the corners, and reaches up to trace the crooked line of his nose.

 

“That’s because most people are blind fools,” he brushes the backs of his fingers across Bull’s cheek. Bull pulls him into his lap and kisses him for a long time.

 

Dorian fully intends to spend the rest of the day canoodling with Bull. Alas, his luck - or lack thereof - would appear to be holding. A messenger knocks on Bull’s door. Dorian sighs and rolls his eyes.

 

“We could ignore it,” Bull rumbles, nuzzling.

 

Dorian smiles wanly. “Trust me. It won’t be avoidable. It seems to be my fate.” As if to prove the point, the knock comes again. Dorian pulls his pants on and slips his robes over his head while Bull answers the door.

 

The message is simple. “The Inquisitor requests your presence at the barn. And Ser Pavus as well, if you know where he is.” She’s a frail girl. Dorian remembers her from Haven. She’s been ill since they arrived in Skyhold, he thinks. He saw her in the surgeon's more than once.

 

Bull smiles kindly. “I’ll bring him with me.”

 

She bows and scurries off on another errand. Dorian closes the clasps on his robes. “If he sent for us, it’s important. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

 

Bull kisses the top of his head gently, and they make their way down to the barn. Everyone but Josie and Leliana are there. Cullen hands Dorian a note, and one of the scrolls Leliana keeps as files. The note is simple, straightforward:

 

 

 

 

> _Inquisitor,_
> 
> _You’ve been a friend and an inspiration. You’ve_
> 
> _given me the wisdom to know right from wrong_
> 
> _and, more importantly, the courage to uphold_
> 
> _the former._
> 
> _It’s been my honor to serve you._

 

It’s not signed, but the close, black scrawl is clearly Blackwall’s. Dorian silently passes the note to Bull and peruses the scroll, one eye on Adaar who is prowling the barn, looking for clues that clearly aren’t there. The scroll says Blackwall is the name of a dead Warden, and the man they know is actually Tom Ranier, wanted in Orlais for the murder of a noble family.

 

Another messenger runs up just as Dorian is handing the scroll over to Bull. “Found this in the Warden’s quarters, Ser.” This messenger is a young man, and he looks grateful not to have to approach the Inquisitor. Dorian thanks him with a gentle smile, taking the paper the messenger offers. It’s clearly in the style of the reports Leliana’s spies turn in. Dorian wonders how Blackwall got a hold of it without Leliana noticing it was missing, but he puts the thought aside. Someone named Cyril Mornay is to be executed. One of Ranier’s men. Well. Now they know where Blackwall went. Dorian lets Bull read the report before approaching Adaar with it.

 

Adaar takes the report, He glances it over and sits down, hard. Like a puppet with its strings cut. Dorian sits next to him, curling an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Bull and Cullen clear the barn of everyone but the inner circle, and they all sit. To Dorian’s surprise, Cullen is the one who says what Dorian himself is thinking.

 

“We should go after him,” Cullen says. Simply and softly, into the silence. Dorian just stares, blinking. Adaar is clearly shocked too.

 

“Can the Inquisition really afford to try and snatch a prisoner from the Orlesian nobility?” The question comes out in almost a monotone, and Dorian’s heart clenches. Adaar's despair is unmistakable. Dorian squeezes his shoulders.

 

“Can we afford to let an outside court judge a member of the Inquisition?” Cullen ripostes. Dorian feels a bit defensive at how aggressive Cullen is being, but then he sees Adaar shaking off the lassitude of his despair to argue, and he favors Cullen with a smile.

 

“So, what, we just march in and take him?” Adaar challenges.

 

“Between what Leliana knows and the favors Orlesian nobles owe Josephine, maybe,” Cullen allows. “Plus we know there will be an attempt on Empress Celine’s life. We can trade information, the pressure our presence can bring. We can bring him home.”

 

Solas chimes in, “Whatever he was in the past, he has fought bravely for the Inquisition.”

 

The Seeker is less convinced. “A man who truly wished to atone would not lie about his identity.”

 

Sera seems to agree. “He’s not going to help us stop Coryphemus and get things back to normal. He ran away. Let him get hung if that’s what he wants.” And then, as is her wont, shifts. “Anyone who hates the nobles can’t be all bad, though.” Vivienne glares at her for that, but says nothing.

 

“We’ll go get him,” Bull says. “You can throw him in jail yourself if you want. It’s bad for morale to just let people run off and get themselves hung.”

 

Adaar smiles at him. Varric is taking notes. Cole is sitting by him, looking a little mournful. “All right. We’ll go.”

 

In the end, Cassandra, Sera, Varric and Cole stay at Skyhold. Vivienne makes it clear she’s along for the trip and does not care a whit for Blackwall one way or the other. She and Dorian trade barbs as they ride. “Official mage to the Orlesian Imperial Court? That must have been exciting.” Dorian is feeling out of sorts, missing his evening with Adaar and Bull, and so his comment has more venom than usual.

“It is an esteemed position, darling, that many mages would envy.” Vivienne is unruffled, as always.

 

He concedes part of the point, “Yes, being paraded about like an exotic peacock is better than running frantically from templars.”

 

Vivienne deigns to raise an eyebrow at him. “Better an exotic peacock than one Tevinter rat amongst many.”

 

Ha! Now he has her attention. The game can begin. “Oh! A dig at my homeland? This should be fun.” He grins broadly at her. “Are you saying you _wouldn't_ rather live in a land where mages aren't herded into cages like dogs?”

 

“Which land is _that_? The one where mages are feared and despised as tyrants?” Vivienne’s tone is chilly, and her attention clearly is wandering.

 

Dorian attempts to step up his game. “I'm the first to admit magisters aren't perfect, but they've also done great things. They're _allowed_ to.” He can see Bull, a bit off to his left and obviously eavesdropping, smirk and roll his eyes.

 

Vivienne, not as familiar with Dorian’s arguments, takes the bait. “Monstrous things as well, or you wouldn't be here, would you?”

 

“Locking people into cages isn't the answer.”  This is one thing Dorian knows to be an absolute truth. He looks at Solas, who is reading on horseback, and thinks about the conversations they’ve had about slavery. He knows Solas is right. He will do what he can to end slavery when he goes back to Tevinter. Then... something must be done to address poverty both in Tevinter and the South. He doubts he’ll be alive to see that. He sighs, feeling the burden of trying to undo a thousand years of wrongs on his own.

 

Vivienne apparently sees his navel gazing, and she interrupts it with an unusually extreme riposte, shaking him out of his reverie. “Naturally. First we execute those who will not submit, then we deal with the rest.”

 

Dorian’s mouth hangs open. “You cannot possibly mean that.”

 

Vivienne simply laughs at him, her laughter ringing out, bell-like in the cooling night air. “It's rather amusing, Dorian.”

 

The chill of coming autumn is making Dorian more irritable than usual, perhaps. “Your outfit's entertaining, I'll give you that,” he sniffs.

 

There’s still a chuckle in her voice as she continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “The way you sneer at "southerners," pretending to be a shark from a land of sharks.” Her voice lowers as she delivers the barb. “But you're not a shark and never will be, darling. They knew it, just as you do.”

 

It’s meant to be a barb, at least. Dorian actually finds it oddly comforting to know he’s not his father’s son. That even Vivienne sees him as incompatible with his homeland. He’s come to increasingly see much of his homeland’s traditions as morally wrong. It’s part of why he agreed to go back. If there’s anything worth saving, he has to try. No one else will. “I could have pretended. Wore fancy clothes, convinced everyone I'm something I'm not.” He’s actually only talking about himself, he doesn’t mean to reference Vivienne. She sneers at him anyway, so he turns it into the barb she expects. “Then I could take a position at court, whore myself out, and desperately hope no one realizes what a fraud I am.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Such snapping for a fish without teeth.”

 

Bull is laughing as he interjects. “You two should put on a show, charge for admission.”

 

Vivienne sniffs and lifts her chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’re having a perfectly civil conversation.”

 

Dorian smiles a little. “It's true. I've heard worse from our gardener back home.” Bull laughs and leans in to kiss him, and Dorian kisses back. Vivienne rolls her eyes and rides a little further off.

 

***

 

There’s already a crowd in the square when they arrive in Val Royeaux. The headsman stands on the gallows platform with the man Dorian assumes must be Mornay and the list of crimes are being read. Dorian scans the crowd, but doesn’t see Blackwall. “Who is this man to Blackwall? A brother? A friend?” Dorian asks the aether, since he knows no one he’s with knows the answer either.

 

“Stop!” someone cries. The crowd falls quiet, and Dorian sees Blackwall ascending to the platform.

“A Grey Warden,” the headsman announces, like most of the crowd can’t tell that from the armor. They clearly expect him to invoke the Right of Conscription.

 

Blackwall turns and faces the crowd. “This man is innocent of the crimes laid before him. Orders were given, and he followed them like any good soldier. He should not die for that mistake!”

 

The headsman challenges that. “Then find me the man who gave the order!”

 

Adaar clearly sees what he means to do, calling out to him, “Blackwall!” Dorian doesn’t know whether Adaar means to stop him, or just to let him know that they’re there.

 

Either way, Blackwall won’t be stopped. “No. I am not Blackwall. I never was Blackwall.” He faces the crowd. “Warden Blackwall is dead, and he has been for years. I assumed his name to hide, like a coward, from who I truly am.” Blackwall’s face is rigid; he is clearly in pain, and Dorian actually feels for the man. They’ve never gotten along, but this is a brave thing he’s doing, and Dorian respects it. It’s foolhardy, but so is going back to Tevinter.

 

Mornay is the first to grasp what is happening. “You? After all this time?” he asked, searching Blackwall’s face for the man he knew.

 

Blackwall turns to him. “It’s over. I’m done hiding.” He turns back to the crowd. “I gave the order. The crime is mine. I am Thom Ranier.” A confused shout goes up from the crowd as Blackwall is led away by the headsman.

 

Cullen faces Adaar, puts his hands on the Inquisitor’s slumped shoulders, and squeezes them. “I’ll talk to the guard captain and see what needs to be done to transfer custody.” He gives Adaar a little shake. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

 

Adaar nods. “All right.” He waves Dorian off when he would follow. “I think this should be a private conversation, Kadan.” He kisses the top of Dorian’s head and heads toward the tower that houses the dungeon in its basement.

 

Bull inclines his head toward a display of weapons and Dorian shakes his head. Solas is likely headed toward the bakery. Vivienne disappeared as soon as they were inside the city walls. Dorian remembers there being a book stall somewhere beyond the terrace, so he heads there. Bull finds him there a bit later. “Rented us a room. Adaar too if we can get him to stay. Playing nice with the nobles will probably take time.”

Dorian smiles softly at him. “You’re a lovely, sweet man. I could use a proper bath. Tell me it’s at least that kind of inn?”

 

Bull smiles back. “They’ll likely even have perfumed oil.”

 

“You’ll spoil me.” Dorian leans into him.

 

“As if you weren’t already spoiled, you big fop.” Bull steers him away from the books. “Let’s find our Inquisitor and let him know.”

 

Cullen and Adaar are actually standing in the square with their heads together, speaking agitatedly, but in hushed tones. Cullen nods to them as he rushes off on an errand. Adaar looks exhausted, and Dorian wants to take him away from all the misery, but Adaar insists on staying in the square to await messengers for a while longer. “I should check on Blackwall. I’m worried he might decide to decide to rush ahead of the headsman.”

 

Dorian glances at Bull, who nods. He’ll stay with Adaar. Dorian brushes a kiss over Adaar’s temple. “I’ll go, love. Go to the cafe. Get some of those little cakes Solas can’t stop talking about. He’s probably there anyway. You can talk about magic, something more pleasant than sit and worry while you wait for the arrangements to be made.”

 

Adaar looks like he wants to resist, but Bull is already steering him toward the cafe. Dorian smiles at their backs and then turns toward the dungeon door and squares his shoulders.

 

Blackwall is sitting with his back to the bars, facing the wall when Dorian gets to the bottom of the stairs. He sighs, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Blackwall stiffens, clearly hearing him there, but doesn’t turn or respond. Probably thinking he’s Adaar. Dorian sits with his back to the bars as well, feeling the warmth of Blackwall’s broad back through them. “So... I hit a nerve with the whole murderer Grey Warden business.” He lets the sentence hang there in the empty air.

 

The man on the other side of the bars stiffens even further. He clearly wasn’t expecting Dorian. “Are you speaking to me?”

 

Dorian rolls his eyes. The nearest guards are at the top of the stairs. They’re the only ones in the room. “Yes, you. Blackwall. ...Whatever your name is.”

 

“Blackwall will do.” His voice drips contempt.

 

Dorian sighs. He’s trying to apologize, but the other man is not making it easy on him. Not that he should. The situation is difficult all around. “I’m saying I understand wanting to atone for one’s actions,” he replies, not answering the contempt with anger as he usually would.

 

“Is that so?” is the only response Blackwall gives him.

 

“...enough to know when I’ve stepped in it. So I apologize.” Dorian looks down at his hands. He can feel Blackwall twist around to look at him.

 

“You... did not have to apologize to me, Dorian.” The Warden sounds nonplussed, and Dorian allows himself a small, sad smile. It’s not like Blackwall can see it.

 

“People who say that to me are usually wrong,” he replies, simply.

 

“I am indeed a murderer, and I escaped my past to become a Warden, like many others before me.” Dorian rolls his eyes. It’s not like they don’t both know you can be both factual AND unkind.

 

“Obviously the original Blackwall saw something in you. I respect that,” he says instead of the softer words that might be rejected.

 

“And you abandoned your life of privilege for the sake of principle alone,” Blackwall responds.

 

There’s respect in those words, and for a moment Dorian is speechless. After a moment he replies, “I didn’t like that life,” somewhat inanely. There are emotions crowding thickly in his throat, robbing him of his customary glibness.

 

Blackwall’s voice is soft when he replies, as if he knows, even if he can’t see Dorian’s face. “It was wrong of me to lump you in with peers you hardly resemble.”

 

“I have a terrible secret, too, you know,” Dorian doesn’t know why he’s saying this, other than he has to say something, and this is the only thing he feels he has to offer of this magnitude. “If I tell you, do you suppose we could declare a truce?”

 

Blackwall chuckles. “Gladly.”

“When Corypheus is done, I’ve promised to go back to Tevinter. It’s what I bargained to my father for Krem’s parents,” Dorian tells him. “I promised him a year. And then I should really see if I can change things at all.” Dorian leans his head back against the bars.

 

“I take it the Inquisitor doesn’t know?” Blackwall says. His voice is gentle, without condemnation.

 

“I didn’t want to burden him with it.” Doran replies. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds small.

 

“Perhaps you should learn from my mistake, and know being a better man doesn’t mean having to carry everything alone.” Blackwall’s voice echoes a little as he turns his back to the bars again, so Dorian can feel him there. “He won’t hear it from me, though. Promise.”

 

“You’re a better man than you think you are, Blackwall.” Dorian tells him.

 

“Go find the Inquisitor,” Blackwall replies. “I’m sure I’ve put him through enough today without depriving him of your presence, too.”

 

“You’ll be here when I get back?” Dorian asks.

 

“Until the headsman comes in the morning,” Blackwall tells him.

 

“I’ll be back before then.” Dorian turns, puts his hand through the bars and squeezes Blackwall’s shoulder. Blackwall covers Dorian’s hand with his own larger, hairier one. Dorian smiles at it, squeezes again, and leaves.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I must apologize for taking so long. I promise to keep churning out chapters. I've never been allergic to something I can't avoid before, and I'm trying to move, too. I am still writing, just much, much more slowly than I was. Thank you to everyone who is sticking with me. <3


	20. Chapter 20

Dorian does see him again, in the morning. Blackwall is being sent back to Skyhold in chains. Cullen’s men load him into a wagon and ride off. Dorian puts a hand on his shoulder before they go, and they say a silent farewell. He watches them ride off as the sun begins to rise, and doesn’t leave the city gates until he’s sure Blackwall can no longer see them. Blackwall is taking his punishment hard, and Adaar is angry about being lied to, but Dorian knows Adaar will forgive him. He’s not Ranier any more. And if Blackwall can change, well... Dorian thinks of Tevinter for the first time in a long time with a sliver of hope.

 

The rest of them gather to ride home. Vivienne seems angry, about what Dorian can’t pretend to know. He gives her a wide berth. Adaar and Solas have their heads together, riding a little ways ahead of the rest of them. Dorian feels a twinge of jealousy he knows is ridiculous. He had had a bath and the perfumed oils Bull had promised, and Adaar had arrived while Bull was washing his hair. Dorian had slept, warmly ensconced between the two of them. The elf’s dislike of Dorian was unlikely to affect their relationship. Still, it didn’t sit easily with him, and he sulked a little as he rode. Bull nudges him out of his reverie. “All right?”

 

Dorian smiles ruefully at him. “Of course. Just lost in thought.”

 

Bull smirks at him at casts a significant glance ahead, where Adaar is oblivious to anything but what Solas is telling him. “Right.”

 

Dorian shrugs. “Later.” He doesn’t want to discuss it where he might be overheard.

 

Bull seems to get it. “All right.” He hands Dorian a small package, wrapped in gaily colored paper.

 

“A present?” Dorian asks, pleased surprise making him look up at Bull. “It’s not my birthday.”

 

“Just something to make you smile,” Bull tells him.

 

Dorian opens the cleverly folded paper carefully, then the box. It’s the bath oil he had liked. A whole bottle. Bathing at Skyhold has always been perfunctory at best. They’re too busy to indulge in luxuries, saving the world and all. Last night had been a rare exception. Dorian can’t stop smiling. “Thank you.”

 

“Maybe we can share a bath sometime?” Bull asks, gently.

 

Dorian’s smile gets brighter. “Anytime.” He tucks the bottle back into the box carefully, and pulls a shirt out of his saddlebag, wrapping the box in the cloth and settling it securely back in the bag. He treats the few luxuries he gets with much more care these days.

 

They stop for the night just before dusk, making camp near the bend of a large, placid river. It’s a breathtakingly beautiful spot. There’s a well cared for clearing, clearly it’s a popular spot to stop, and Dorian can see why. The air is cooling, but the sluggish current is still warm from the heat of the day. Dorian leaves the others bickering over supper and heads to the water’s edge. There’s a soft croaking from the reeds, meeting a higher pitched song from the tree frogs above and the crickets chirping in the grass around the trees. This far away, it’s louder than the roar of the fire and the quiet hum of camp, a wilder melody laid on top of a bassline that means home. Dorian feels oddly moved by it, drawn to the water. He kicks off his boots and hangs his robes over a low hanging branch, wading in in nothing but his smallclothes. He lets the current sway him like he was one of the reeds. The water feels good, soft against his skin, like silk. He arches back, letting the current wash gently over his head. Lets himself float. The current carries him, but not far or fast. When he opens his eyes, there are small green lights among the trees, and skimming the water around him. He stands, watching them warily. Is it magic?

 

“Veilflies.” Solas’s voice says from among the trees on the shore. Dorian can just make out his silhouette in the gloom. “Do they not have them in Tevinter?”

 

“No,” Dorian replies, watching them with wonderment. Now that he’s paying attention to them, they seem just as taken with him, skinning the water near him, landing on his hands and hair. “If this is their environment, I’m not surprised though. Tevinter is more... rocks and sand than trees and rivers. The rivers there tend to be fast and deep. They cut away the rock into deep canyons. It’s beautiful but less... hospitable?” He makes the last word a question, not exactly sure how to say what he’s thinking.

 

He can feel Solas’s smile at his childlike wonder. “They like you. They tend to be attracted to mages attuned to fire. Hence their name.”

 

“It’s not really veilfire that lights them up?” Dorian asks.

 

“No,” Solas chuckles, “though you aren’t the first to think so.”

 

“They’re beautiful,” Dorian muses.

 

“There’s much beauty to be found in the forest, if you look,” Solas intones.

 

The conversation stalls as Dorian searches for something to say that won’t anger the elf. Their relationship is strained at best, and this is the friendliest conversation they’ve had. Dorian doesn’t want to rock the boat right now. Then it occurs to him that Solas is here, not Adaar or Bull. “Is something wrong back at camp?” he asks, suddenly worried.

 

Solas is quick to reassure him. “No, everything is fine. The Inquisitor and the Iron Bull are cooking... something Qunari. They have assured me it will be delicious.”

 

Dorian laughs at the dubious tone in Solas’s voice. “I’ve eaten Adaar’s cooking before. He’s better than the cooks at Skyhold. I make no promises about Bull, on the other hand.” He’s grinning in Solas’s direction when a veilfly lands on his nose. He flails a little, wanting to shoo it, but loath to hurt the tiny creature. He huffs at it and it buzzes off.

 

Solas laughs from the tree’s shadows. Dorian slowly wades toward the shore. “I’m not trying to run you off,” he starts, conversationally, “but I’m not usually the person you seek out for company. Is there something... I can help you with?” Dorian can see the elf among the trees now, sitting on his heels at the base of the biggest tree, not far from the shore. Dorian can feel the roots reaching into the water under his feet. He follows them up until he can sit on them and dangle his feet into the water.

 

Solas shakes his head. “The Veil is thin here. I was drawn to the spot just as you were.”

 

“Ah,” Dorian murmurs. “I’ll... let you have a moment, then.” He stands and steps carefully toward his robes.

 

“There’s no need for you to leave,” Solas replies, looking out over the water. He is silent for a long moment while Dorian settles back into his robes. “We’ve had our differences, but the Inquisitor has chosen you to be among his closest companions. He’s a good man. I’m sure he’s capable of mistakes, but I do not believe you are one of them.”

 

Dorian blinks. “I, um... er...” he stumbles.

 

Solas chuckles again. “I’ve made you speechless, I see. One of my greater accomplishments.”

 

Dorian laughs too. He hadn’t been entirely sure Solas was capable of making jokes. “Thank you,” he says, simply. There’s so much more he wants to say, wants to tell Solas what he’s planning. How he’s trying. But the moment feels fragile, so he stays quiet. Shoves his feet into his boots, and goes to sit, close enough to see the elf’s face, but far enough away not to invade his space. They sit in companionable silence until Bull bellows that dinner is ready.

***

 

Dorian does not attend Blackwall’s trial. But he does go to the barn after, bearing a basket of warm rolls, the bitter cheese the Southerners seem to favor, some smoked meat, and a bottle of ale. The Warden is carving at something, and Dorian peers over his shoulder. “You’re the one who made all those wooden animals Cole brought me? I’d wondered where he was getting them.”

 

“He asked me for them, and it helped to keep my hands busy. I didn’t know what he was doing with them. He’s an odd boy, but his heart is in the right place.” Blackwall doesn’t look up, carefully shaping the edge of a wing.

 

“I brought dinner, and myself, for company, in case you wanted to ease your way back into what passes for society in Skyhold. I can go if you'd rather be alone.” Dorian is a little hurt by the cold shoulder he seems to be getting. He supposes today hasn’t been Blackwall’s best day though, so he tries not to let it show.

 

“You could have come to gloat during the judgment. You didn’t have to wait until I was alone.” Blackwall says, sounding defeated.

 

“I didn’t come to the trial because I thought you might want it to be as private as possible. I certainly wouldn’t want everyone listening while a list of my crimes was read and discussed. Not because I thought the gloating that I’m not planning on doing would go better when you were alone.” Dorian knows his tone is hurt this time, but clearly this is directed at Dorian, and not just Blackwall’s bad day. “I don’t like the way most people at Skyhold stare at me. I wanted to spare you the same treatment.”

 

“I didn’t enjoy facing the Inquisitor and Josephine alone.” Blackwall says simply.

 

Dorian sighs. “I’m sorry. I should have asked. I don’t... I don’t think of myself as the person you’d turn to for moral support.”

 

Blackwall’s back relaxes a faction, and his head hangs down. “I suppose you wouldn’t. We’re not really friends, are we?”

 

“We could be, in time. With some scissors, and soap. Lots and lots of soap,” Dorian teases.

 

Blackwall laughs, loud and long, making the horses snort curiously. “I think I’d like that. Did you mention food?”

 

Dorian produces the basket with a flourish. “I did indeed. Shall we eat?”

***

 

He leaves Blackwall carving, but with a full belly and warm with ale. He smiles to himself, deciding to stop and check in on Adaar, who is probably just as out of sorts as Blackwall had been. He’s not in his quarters, or Josephine’s office, or the war room even. Disappointed, he heads to the library to ensure his alcove hasn’t been disturbed before he turns in for the night.  Fiona is the only person left, tucked away in her own alcove. Nothing in Dorian’s space has been disturbed. He sighs and goes to lean over the balcony. Solas in painting. Dorian watches him quietly, until he reaches up to scratch his head, leaving behind a streak of black paint. Dorian chuckles softly and heads downstairs. He picks up a cloth from Solas’s worktable, and hands it to him. “You have some paint...” he gestures at his head with a tiny smile.

 

Solas smiles back and takes the cloth. Dorian turns away while he gets cleaned up, looking up at the murals Solas has painted so far. “These are impressive,” Dorian says, somewhat in awe of the skill involved. He was never very good at drawing.

 

“I’m glad you enjoy them,” Solas replies, as formal as ever. “The Inquisitor was looking for you earlier. Did he find you?”

 

“Not yet,” Dorian says, though just knowing he was being sought makes him smile. “I brought Blackwall some dinner and kept him company a while. It’s not much fun being a pariah in Skyhold,” his smile goes crooked. “I thought I’d try to make it a little easier.”

 

Solas looks closely at him, almost through him. “I used to wonder why Cole spent so much time with you, as opposed to myself or Varric. I understand spirits, and Cole needs that. Varric can explain humanity, and he needs that. But of all of us, you are the most like him. A human who acts out of compassion. A human he understands. It’s possible he needs that most of all.” He smiles softly at Dorian.

 

Dorian blinks, eyes stinging with unbidden tears. “You greatly overstate my virtues, Solas.”

 

“I don’t think I do,” Solas’s smile gets even more gentle. He squeezes Dorian’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry. You camouflage it well. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them. You should go find the Inquisitor. I’m sure he needs you. Perhaps he’s in your quarters?” He turns away, giving Dorian space to collect himself, picking up his brush again.

 

“Solas...” Dorian starts, and then trails off, unsure of what to say. He feels fragile at the moment. “Thank you.”

 

“If I’d realized that recognizing your finer qualities was the way to render you silent sooner, I’d have been more complimentary when we met,” Solas smirks at him.

 

Dorian chuckles and shakes his head, rubbing at the nape of his neck. “I mean it. Thank you.”

 

Solas just smiles. “Don’t keep the Inquisitor waiting.”

  
There’s no one in Dorian’s room, so Dorian decides to check Bull’s. And there he finds not only Bull, but Adaar, curled around each other and fast asleep. Dorian smiles, insinuates himself between them, and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one was quick, but it's raining and I CAN BREATHE which is super exciting, so this chapter is a bit on the short side, but full of cute and I was feeling inspired.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, and all porn that I am deeply dissatisfied with, but if I rewrite it one more time I will go insane. But here it is, the threesome porn scene! Woo! *confetti*

* * *

 

Dorian wakes slowly, feeling warm and heavy. He can hear Adaar and Bull murmuring over his head, but it takes a few moments for him to be conscious enough to understand what they’re saying.

 

They’re discussing missions for the Chargers.

 

Dorian groans. “You could keep it down. Some of us were attending to the morale of your Grey Warden while you were sleeping.”

 

Adaar just kisses the top of his head. Bull’s chuckle is deep and satisfied. Dorian turns a little to hide his face in the pillows, grumbling. Adaar nuzzles his cheek. “We have no missions today, and no one knows I’m here...” he murmurs into Dorian’s ear, suggestively.

 

Dorian opens an eye. “No knocks on the door?” Bull is already unbuckling his robe. Dorian would smack his hands away, but he is suddenly feeling very eager. He lets Bull do the work and busies himself with kissing Adaar breathless. Bull simply moves Dorian around, tugging at Dorian’s clothes as needed until he’s naked as the day he was born. He spares a thought for his clothes, probably in a heap on the floor, but Bull takes his wrists, holding them in one huge hand at the small of his back and... it’s a short thought. Heat suffuses him, and he knows it shows in his face because Adaar’s eyes twinkle and his fingertips trail over Dorian’s cheek. Dorian wants to hide his face, but he doesn’t. He gives Adaar the emotions he knows he can’t keep off his face. He wants this so much. That’s part of why it’s terrifying.

 

Adaar does that eerie thing where he seems to somehow know what Dorian is thinking. He curls a finger under Dorian’s chin, lifted so as not to hide his face. “Such a good boy, Dorian,” Adaar murmurs, kissing him again.

 

Bull chuckles softly at the shiver he can feel go through Dorian at the words. “You like to be a good boy, hmmm Dorian?”

 

Dorian’s stomach flips, but he can feel Bull hardening where he’s pressed against Dorian’s arse. Breathlessly, he presses back against Bull. “About as much as you like me liking it, it would seem.” It’s terrifying to be this exposed. To have his desires out in the open. But he’s greedy for it. To store up everything he feels now, the fear and the love and all this passion, against what is likely to be a long, lonely year in Tevinter. And the lingering fear that they won’t want him back once he’s gone makes him even more reckless. He’s in free fall, and if Bull and Adaar are there to catch him, he’ll be fine. He hitches a leg over Adaar’s hip and uses it to pull him closer, shamelessly. If they aren’t... he’ll pick up the pieces later.

 

Bull leans down and places a sucking, biting kiss on his shoulder, where it won’t be covered by his robes. Dorian knows everyone will be able to see the passion mark and his breathing goes ragged and unsteady. Adaar kisses his way down Dorian’s body, soft in a way that feels like electricity on Dorian’s skin.

 

He loses track of the ways they are touching him for a long while. He’s hard, and Adaar’s mouth feels hot around him and there are slick fingers stretching him open and  his nipples are being pinched and there are teeth, sharp against the side of his throat and he is nothing but the pleasure contained between those points.

 

“Come back to us, my sweet Dorian,” Adaar is stroking his face and Dorian does his best to focus, but Bull has two fingers inside of him, and he doesn’t stop moving them.  Adaar laughs and presses his thumb against Dorian’s lower lip. Dorian takes him in obediently and sucks. “Good boy,” Adaar purrs, dragging his thumb out of Dorian’s mouth and over his lower lip. “Are you with us, Kadan?”

 

Dorian nods, not quite trusting his voice. Adaar’s brow wrinkles with concern, so Dorian clears his throat. “Yes, Amatus. I...” Bull twists his fingers and presses and Dorian can’t finish the sentence - trailing off into a strangled noise. “Unfair!” Dorian gasps when he stops and Bull and Adaar both chuckle.

 

Bull stills his hand, and Dorian can feel the mood shift, something expectant between the Qunari. He expects Adaar to be the one to speak, but he just watches Dorian’s face. It’s Bull who puts a voice to what they’re thinking. “We both want you, Dorian. Adaar first, then me. Think you can handle that?”

 

Dorian whimpers. He knows he’ll be sore and exhausted. He knows they will wring every single drop of pleasure they can from him. “You planned this out before I got here, didn’t you?” he accuses playfully. He doesn’t want them to know how scared he feels. He doesn’t want them to stop.

 

Adaar laughs softly and kisses him. “We’d have included you, but you were dallying with Blackwall.”

 

Dorian raises an eyebrow, “What I’m hearing is that the two of you couldn’t think of anything to discuss in my absence but me?” Bull rewards his cheekiness with another twist of his fingers and Dorian subsides on a desperate needy sound that makes both Bull and Adaar press closer.

 

“The faster you say yes, the faster we can start,” Bull growls softly.

 

Dorian laughs breathlessly. “Yes,” his stomach flips saying it. “I am yours. Both of yours.”  A heaviness dissipates, as if they were afraid he’d say no. Dorian thinks about telling them that he would never refuse them, but they’re shifting him. Dorian reaches back and holds on to Adaar’s horns as he pushes so, so slowly into Dorian. He wants to close his eyes, but Bull is watching. Dorian lets Bull hold his gaze, lets him see what he’s feeling as Adaar enters him. He feels so naked.  Bull kisses him, pushes a thigh between his so Adaar’s thrusts make Dorian rut against it. Dorian lets go of Adaar’s horns to grab Bull and pull him into a kiss.  

 

Bull kisses him, dragging the back of one finger up the length of Dorian’s cock. Dorian arches back, gasping for breath, and Adaar grinds up into him, hands hard on his hips. The pleasure is inescapable and overwhelming. He’s writhing shamelessly and making desperate, wanton sounds. He wonders, in a distant, scattered way, if he’ll regret letting go of his dignity, but he feels Adaar’s teeth against the back of his neck and any thought that isn’t his imminent orgasm flees.

 

Bull knows his tells, though. He pinches the base of Dorian’s cock, and he comes. He comes and comes and it feels like it goes on forever, and when it’s over, Adaar is coming, shaking apart behind him, and he is still hard and needy in Bull’s hand.

 

It takes Dorian several long moments to recover his voice, while Adaar pants against the back of his neck and Bull smirks down at him, but he manages. “How?” he demands breathlessly.

 

Bull’s smirk becomes a full grin, but he shrugs. “A trick the Tamassrans used to use. Not really sure how it works. Just know that it does.” He strokes his finger up the length of Dorian’s cock again and he shivers. Adaar pulls out gently, and Dorian makes a small noise of loss.

 

Adaar responds with a filthy chuckle. “Don’t worry. We’re not done with you yet.” He reaches around Dorian, wrapping his hand around Bull’s cock and stroking it. Dorian is torn between watching Adaar’s hand on Bull’s cock, and watching the pleasure suffuse Bull’s face. He wiggles his way down Bull’s body, licking over the head of Bull’s cock as Adaar strokes it. He smiles when Bull groans deeply, stroking his hair. Then he’s being lifted and turned. Bull is pushing into him and Adaar is swallowing the desperate sounds he makes with kisses. Bull hooks an arm under Dorian’s knee, lifting his leg so he can push in deeper. Adaar pulls back to watch. Dorian blushes, but doesn’t close his eyes. He watches Adaar watching him, until Adaar can’t just look.

 

Dorian’s eyes close when Adaar’s lips graze the pulse in his neck. His hands trace the planes of Dorian’s chest and stomach, tracing designs against his skin that seem erotically charged. Bull’s thrusts are as slow as Adaar’s hands, paradoxically making Dorian nearly frantic with pleasure. Every touch, every movement draws a wild, desperate sound from him until, when Adaar kisses Bull’s hand at Dorian’s knee, Dorian swears he can feel that too. His cock twitches, catching Adaar’s attention. He blows a soft stream of air over it, smiling at the whine of frustrated need Dorian can’t hold back. Dorian bites his lip. He’ll beg if they want, but clearly they have a plan, and he doesn’t wish to disrupt it by asking for more. He wants to be good. Perfect for them.

 

Adaar’s lips graze his thigh, his mouth working its way toward his leaking cock. Dorian begins to tremble. He can feel his orgasm, as if from far away, a huge boulder rolling down a hill toward him. He feels like he’ll be flattened by it. Bull snakes an arm around his chest and holds Dorian tightly against him. Adaar’s fingers follow his mouth, trailing lightly across Dorian’s oversensitized skin. His fingertips drag down Dorians body and then up the length of his cock and he writhes, nearly sobbing when Adaar strokes him again, and a third time. He looks up at Dorian, mouth scant inches from Dorian’s cock and Dorian looks back. He can’t look away. Adaar slowly takes him in, sucking like Dorian was a sweet.

 

“I can’t,” Dorian gasps, but it’s too late, and he comes apart, shaking himself into a thousand pieces. Bull shoves into him, hard, and Dorian can feel him following over the edge. Adaar leans up to kiss him and Dorian groans at the taste of himself in Adaar’s mouth. He’s still trembling and Adaar strokes his face.

 

“Are you all right, Kadan?” His forehead is creased with concern, and Dorian feels a pang of guilt for worrying him.

 

He smiles, and he knows it’s shaky, but it’s real. “The two of you are overwhelming, Amatus. But that’s not a bad thing.” Adaar chuckles softly and kisses him again and again. Bull strokes his sweaty hair, and pulls out of Dorian gently. Dorian feels wrung out. His mouth is dry as the Hissing Wastes. “Could I trouble you for some water?”

 

Bull reaches for the waterskin he keeps beside the bed. The taste is stale, but Dorian drinks deeply anyway. He dribbles a bit, but Bull wipes the water from his chin with his thumb.  Adaar brushes away the hair sticking to his forehead and kisses it. Dorian smiles muzzily. He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s having trouble collecting his thoughts. Adaar puts a finger over his lips. “Hush, Kadan. Anything that needs saying can wait until you’ve rested. We’re not going anywhere. Rest.”

  
Dorian’s eyes drift closed. He feels safe.


	22. Chapter 22

They are roused by the messenger’s knock Dorian has come to know with a sort of amused dread. Leliana needs Adaar, _now_. One of her agents must have found something good, so Dorian helps him dress and sends him on his way. Bull is lazing in his bed, looking sleepy still, but Dorian feels sweaty and sticky, so he tugs his own robes on, kisses Bull and heads out to find a bath.

 

When he’s clean and wearing clean robes, he decides he wants food. The entirety of Skyhold appears to be in a flurry. Whatever Leliana has, it must be very juicy. Dorian opts to head for the tavern instead of the hall. If it’s this good, both Varric and Bull will be there, gleaning facts from details that Dorian would miss.

 

Bull and Varric are indeed sitting in Bull’s regular spot with Krem and some of the Chargers. Dorian bypasses the group to fold himself into a seat at Krem’s feet. Krem smiles down at him, but neither of them speaks, letting the fast stream of gossip between Varric and Bull continue unimpeded. Dorian gathers that they’re going to the next ball at Halamshiral. There are to be fittings for Inquisition uniforms. Dorian hopes they’ll get a vote on the uniforms. Adaar’s beige ensemble might be comfortable, but fashionable it is not. They’re getting their invitations, not through the Empress, but her cousin, Gaspard de Chalons, rebel Grand Duke. It’s all very subversive and romantic. Dorian approves. The ball is still a moon away though. Dorian turns his attention to Krem.

 

He’s still recovering from the failed attempt at allying with the Qun. He’s leaning to one side in his chair, taking most of his weight of his burned leg, but the smirk as he watches Bull and Varric compete to see who has the best gossip about the ball says he’s not feeling much pain at present. Might have something to do with the empty tankard in front of him. Krem hasn’t picked it up in a bit and Dorian doesn’t have a drink of his own, so he stands and snags the tankard. Heading to the bar, he gets it refilled and one for himself, though it’s still early in the day. He returns to the group, hands Krem’s tankard to him, and leans his hip on the high backed chair.

 

“Thanks,” Krem smiles up at him when he returns, taking a deep draught of the ale.

 

Dorian tips his tankard toward Krem in response. “I was headed that way,” he smiles back. “Did I miss anything important?”

 

Krem laughs softly into his tankard. “Nah. Varric and the Chief have been measuring swords since the news hit, but there’s been nothing new for a while.”

 

Dorian chuckles. “It must be shocking for Bull to have competition in the sword measuring arena.”

 

Krem sputters into his tankard, and Bull turns to Dorian, eyes twinkling. “I heard that.”

 

Dorian smirks at him. “Well, I was hardly whispering.”

 

Bull leans and reaches, tugging on Dorian’s robes until he moves close enough for Bull to settle onto his knee. Dorian blushes furiously, but settles onto Bull’s lap and accepts the arm around his waist, ignoring Varric’s speculative look. “Good bath?” Bull asks him, smiling softly up at him in a way that makes Dorian’s heart skip a beat.

 

Dorian nods. “I’d have stayed, but I was a bit sweaty,” he replies, too softly for Varric to hear over the bar chatter, he hopes.

 

Bull’s smile deepens, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “My bed smells like you. Adaar too. Smells good,” he replies, just as softly.

 

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Barbarian,” he scoffs, but the blush climbing up the back of his neck belies his irritation.

 

Bull just grins at him until Dorian laughs and shakes his head.

***

 

The furor over the ball dies down, and Dorian finds  his way back to his alcove and his research, only a little later than usual. He manages to make some headway in spite of being a bit tipsy, but finds himself in need of a text he doesn’t have. He thinks Vivienne does, however. Loath though he is to owe Madame de Fer a favor, he sends a messenger to her to see if he can borrow the text to track something down. While he waits, he stands and stretches heading to the balustrade to watch Solas paint. Solas isn’t painting, however. Dorian can really only see the top of his head from this vantage point, but he’s sitting uncharacteristically slumped in his chair. He appears to be drinking tea, which is odd because he never does, no matter how cold the morning might be. Everyone knows Solas dislikes the flavor, and never willingly drinks the stuff. Dorian’s forehead creases in concern. He watches Solas a moment more before he decides to act.

 

He heads to the kitchen. Wheedling Bull’s favorite drink from the cook isn’t difficult, she likes him. He carries two mugs, slowly and carefully to Solas’ study, tapping the door gently with his foot to announce himself. Solas turns and Dorian offers him a mug. “You seemed displeased with your tea, so I thought I’d bring you something that wouldn’t make you make that terrible face,” Dorian smiles as he speaks.

 

Solas sniffs the mug, somewhat more suspiciously than is warranted Dorian thinks. He says nothing, however, and sips his own mug instead.  It’s a bit sweet for his tastes, but he does like chocolate, and the way the warmth seems to spread through him when he sips. Solas sips too, keeping his eyes on Dorian, but seems more pleased with this drink than with his tea. Dorian smiles when the elf relaxes fractionally.

 

“Why are you drinking tea this morning? And not painting?” Dorian inclines his head toward the third mural, still unfinished on the wall. He thinks he sees the Fade in it, but he’s not sure. Then he realizes he’s probably pushing the boundaries of Solas’s patience already, especially if he’s having a bad morning. “Sorry. That was terribly rude of me. Shall I show myself out?” Dorian turns toward the door.

To his surprise, Solas just sighs. “It’s all right, Dorian. I’m just having trouble shaking off my dreams this morning.”

 

“You look a bit more troubled than a dream would account for. ...is there anything I can help with?” Dorian ventures.

 

“One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages. Forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.” Solas sounds tired.

 

“In your dreams?” Dorian realizes what Solas is saying. “Your friend is a spirit?”

 

Solas nods. “A spirit of wisdom,” the elf stands and begins to pace around the room, agitated. “Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the fade.” Solas stills, looking at Dorian. “It was summoned against its will, and wants my help to regain its freedom and return to the fade.”

 

Dorian is confused. “I thought spirits wanted to find their way into this world?” He tilts his head. “That’s what the chantry teaches us, anyway. I’m learning they might not be the most reliable source of information.” Dorian cracks a small smile, hoping he won’t break their fragile truce with the wrong question.

 

Solas doesn’t smile, but he only seems annoyed by the question, not angry. “Some do, certainly. Just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain,” he replies with a dismissive gesture. “But not everyone wants to go to Rivain. My friend is an explorer, seeking out lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to be here physically.”

 

Dorian nods his acceptance of that. Even if Solas weren’t an expert on all things Fade related, it makes sense that not all spirits want the same things. “Do you know what the mages want with your friend? Was it able to communicate what was being asked of it?”

 

Solas’s irritation drops away, and he just seems sad, and perhaps a little lost. “No. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simply by speaking to it in the fade.” Not lost. Afraid. “It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give, and they intend to torture it.”

 

Dorian wonders what it told Solas to make him look that haunted. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he asks. “We’ll go and help your friend.”

 

Solas shakes his head sadly. “This ball is essential to stopping Corypheus, if what you and the Inquisitor learned in the future still holds. I cannot distract him from that for such a favor.”

 

“Well we won’t bother him with it, then,” Dorian replies. “Cole would do anything for you, and Bull will come, and the Chargers too if they don’t have a mission. Varric is usually up for most adventures, and I bet Blackwall is simply aching to get away from Skyhold for a bit.” Dorian smiles, pleased at Solas’s surprised look. “We’ll let those in charge handle tactics for the ball. The rest of us can help you with your friend.”

 

Solas is clearly too moved to answer, so Dorian waves it away. “Don’t thank me now, we haven’t saved your friend yet. Finish your drink and then you can speak to Varric and Cole and I’ll find Bull and Blackwall. Do we have an accord?” He offers Solas his hand.

 

Solas’s smile as he grips Dorian’s wrist makes him warmer than the chocolate drink in his other hand.

***

 

Blackwall is in the tavern when Dorian returns, a small piece of serendipity. The Warden agrees as readily as Dorian had thought he might. “Solas has an errand he’d like to run out in the Exalted Plains,” Dorian begins.

 

Blackwall cuts him off. “When do we leave?”

 

Dorian chuckles. “You don’t get to avoid getting fitted for the ball, either way.”

 

Blackwall sighs. “Still, a few days away from all the... fluttering might be nice.” Dorian smiles and bumps their shoulders together and heads over to Bull, who is similarly agreeable.

 

“Wrapping even the grumpy elf around your little finger, I see,” he rumbles into Dorian’s hair, pulling him down into his lap. “Your heart is big enough to love anyone, isn’t it?” Bull’s huge hand covers most of his chest, his index finger tapping over said heart.

 

“We’re comrades-in-arms. It’s just easier if we like each other.” Dorian objects, blushing at both the open display of affection and the words. He hides his face against Bull’s neck, knowing even as he does it he’s rewarding Bull for making him blush in public. “You are an incorrigible beast,” Dorian mumbles against his skin.

 

Bull chuckles. “That just proves my point, doesn’t it?” He just laughs harder at the disgusted noise Dorian makes in response. “Have you told Adaar we’re leaving him behind?”

 

Dorian shakes his head. “I should probably do that before he hears it through the grapevine.” He straightens and stands.

 

Bull lets go reluctantly. “Coming back?”

 

“I’ll see Adaar, and check in with Solas, see if he’ll speak to the quartermaster. Then I’ll come back. Promise,” Dorian smiles and kisses Bull, ignoring the low whistles from Krem and Varric behind him. “Should I invite Adaar to your room if he can get away?”

 

Bull kisses him back and nods. “I’ll even change my sheets.”

 

Dorian just rolls his eyes and heads to find his Inquisitor.

***

 

Adaar is less pleased by his impending absence. Dorian finds him in Josephine’s office, but Adaar loops an arm through his and they walk quietly to his quarters.

 

Dorian is kind of expecting to be dressed down, but Adaar just pulls him into his arms and sits them on the couch. He buries his face against Dorian’s chest. Dorian strokes the short ruff of coarse, reddish hair between his horns. He waits for Adaar to speak, worried, but impatience finally gets the better of him. “Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No, Kadan. I’m just not good at this part. The clothes and the etiquette and intrigue,” He sighs deeply and squeezes Dorian tightly. “I’d rather be going with you.”

 

“Come to Bull’s room tonight.” Dorian murmurs in his ear, nibbling the lobe, kissing the sensitive spot behind it.

 

Adaar makes a low, pleased noise and slides his hands up under Dorian’s robe, dragging his fingertips over the smooth skin of Dorian’s thighs. “Is that all right with Bull?”

 

Dorian shivers at the touch. “Bull will have me to himself while we travel. He can share me tonight.” He strokes Adaar’s cheek with gentle fingers. “We should plan some time for the two of us, either when I get back, or after the ball. You and Bull, too.  I don’t want you feeling neglected.”

Adaar smiles at him. Dorian’s stomach flutters. “Sweet Dorian. Such a sweet boy to worry for me the way you do.”

 

Dorian blushes and swallows. He should say something, anything to defuse the moment, but he feels too much to wrap words around. He can’t look at Adaar.

 

“I know you’re not ready now, but I’m listening. if you ever want to talk about why being told how good you are is so emotional,” Adaar tells him simply, kissing his lips softly.

 

“I’m sure you can guess,” Dorian dismisses. It comes out more harshly than he meant it to, and his arms curl around his own stomach, defensively.

 

“I’m sure I could, but I think you would feel better if you talked about it.” Adaar’s voice is gentle, and he pulls his hands from Dorian’s robes and shifts him until he’s sitting sideways in Adaar’s lap with his head on Adaar’s shoulder. “Someday. It doesn’t have to be now.”

 

“You’re too patient with me. How do you know I won’t keep you waiting forever?” Dorian knows he’s being petulant, that he has no intention of not giving Adaar whatever he wants, but it hurts to even think about it.

 

“Because you want to be good. And you are. Very good.” Adaar squeezes his shoulders and kisses his forehead.

 

Dorian can’t respond. He swallows and leans into Adaar.

 

“I’m going to miss you while you’re gone, Kadan.” Adaar murmurs into his hair, clearly knowing it’s time to change the subject. “Make sure you come back to me in one piece, all right?”

 

Dorian’s smile is small and fragile. “As if even a rift full of demons could keep me from you.” They sit until the inevitable knock, summoning Adaar. Dorian kisses him in the hall and makes his way back to the tavern.

 

Bull is talking to a messenger. Dorian doesn’t interrupt, he just goes to the bar, orders some wine and sits in the empty chair next to Bull. He’s too distracted to follow the conversation, so he sips his wine and lets it wash over him. Bull will tell him if there’s something he needs to know.

 

Bull guides him up to his room, and Dorian is still lost in thought. Bull doesn’t try to pull him out of it, just keeps him moving and from walking into the doorframe. He tugs off Dorian’s robes and bundles him into bed. He curls around Dorian, who leans his head against Bull’s broad chest. They’re waiting for Adaar, but Dorian feels tired, though he really hasn’t done very much today. He sighs, and Bull puts a big warm hand between his shoulderblades, thumb stroking the nape of his neck. “Love you, Carissmus,” Dorian murmurs, closing his eyes.

 

He’d just meant to doze until Adaar came, but he wakes up at sunrise feeling warm, pressed between Adaar and Bull, who is snoring lightly with his lips pressed against the back of Dorian’s head, like he fell asleep mid-kiss. Dorian smiles, the heaviness of his thoughts banished. Whatever the rest of the day might bring, waking in Bull’s bed surrounded by warmth and love is a gift. And one Dorian is grateful for. He kisses Adaar’s shoulder and closes his eyes again, simply basking. They’ll have to start their journey soon, but he can selfishly take this moment.

***

 

Dorian’s lips are still swollen from kissing when they leave Skyhold. Solas is quiet, and seems sad to Dorian. He’s worried, but Cole sticks close to the elf, and Dorian smiles. Cole can be relied on for his irrepressible urge to help. He’ll keep Solas from falling into his own navel until they arrive. He and Varric will just have to keep Bull and Blackwall from sniping at each other.  The trip is shaping up to be fairly uneventful. Dorian is pleased.

 

Until they actually get to the Exalted Plains. Solas leads them right to a dead mage. The arrows say it wasn’t a spirit, but the dead body still breaks the calm. Solas takes off, presumably in the direction of his friend. They remount and hurry after him. Not too far off they start to see clear signs of a demon. Scorched rock, burned bandits. “No, no, no, no,” Solas repeats.

 

“They corrupted it,” Dorian says. No spirit of wisdom did this. The trauma of being pulled from the fade and ordered to kill must have... Dorian thinks of the spirits bound to servitude in Tevinter, thousands of them, and feels sick. “We’ll find it, Solas. We’ll figure out how to save it.”

 

Dorian wishes he hadn’t sounded so sure it was possible when they pass the next rise and see the huge Pride demon. His arm aches. He doesn’t have much time to think about it though as a mage runs up to them. “A mage,” he breathes heavily. “You’re not with the bandits?”  Dorian does his best not to recoil from the man’s breath. “Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We’ve been fighting that demon.”

Solas, who has conducted himself with remarkable restraint up to now, snaps. “You _summoned_ that demon. Only it was a spirit of wisdom at the time.” And still he’s only yelling. Even Dorian kind of wants to smack the idiot with his staff. “You made it kill! You twisted it against its purpose!”

 

“I.... I... I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can...” the mage stutters.

 

Solas cuts him off. “We’re not here to help _you_ ,” he snarls.

 

Dorian steps in. Really only because it would probably reflect badly on the Inquisition if Solas killed mages who weren’t attacking them. “Word of advice? I would hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here.” He crosses his arms over his chest, though. Solas’s pain is evident, and Dorian is angry at the pointlessness of it.

 

The mage isn’t getting it. “Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall circle -”

 

“Shut. Up.” Solas interrupts again. “You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.”

 

“I...” the mage begins, but he stops himself, catching on to the anger that surrounds him. Finally, he simply says, “Yes.”

 

“You bound it to obedience, and then you commanded it to kill. That is when it turned.” Solas points at the mage, almost poking him in the chest, but stopping short of actually touching him. Dorian doesn’t blame him. He looks clean, but there’s something... oily about him. Dorian can’t quite define what it is. Solas turns to him. “The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

 

“What?” the oily mage interrupts. “The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!”

 

Solas looks horrified, and turns to Dorian like he is the leader here, “Dorian, please!”

 

Dorian blinks. “Like I would side with this oily bastard? We’ll do everything we can to save your friend, of course.” He can feel Bull frowning behind him, but Dorian feels like Solas’s logic is sound. He looks at the circle. “If we break the stones, that should break the binding. Everyone grab a stone and smash it.” Dorian runs toward the circle and starts smashing a stone without checking to see if his orders will be followed. Either they’ll listen or they won’t. For only the second time in his life, the right thing to do is very clear to him. He doesn’t hesitate. When his stone is finally broken, he turns to help Cole with the next one. Finally they’re all smashed, and his faith in Solas is justified. The spirit and Solas have a conversation in Elvish that Dorian can’t understand. He gathers the others and ushers them a little ways away. Still in sight, in case Solas needs them, but far enough away to give him a little privacy. The mages who summoned Solas’s friend have run off, he notes, sourly. He hopes the bandits get them.

 

When he turns back, Solas’s friend is fading away. Solas turns and walks back to them. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save your friend.”

 

“As am I,” Solas returns. “The other mages?” he asks, though Dorian knows he knows.

 

“Ran off. As much as you don’t love the Dalish, we should stop and warn them on our way back to camp, and well as telling the Inquisition scouts. They might be idiots, but clearly they’re dangerous idiots.”

 

“I... need some time alone.” Solas replies. “I’ll see you back at Skyhold.”

 

Dorian is worried, but it’s not like he can force Solas to do anything he doesn’t want to, so he doesn’t try. “Promise me you’ll be careful? Adaar will never forgive me if you don’t get back in one piece.”

 

Solas cracks a tiny smile. “I was alone a long time before we met, Dorian. I will be fine.”

 

“The sky didn’t have a hole in it then,” Dorian admonishes. He grabs a bag tied to the saddle. Lyrium potions. He hands it to Solas who dutifully puts it in his pack without even rolling his eyes. “Take care of yourself.”

 

“I will.” He squeezes Dorian’s shoulder and heads west, into the setting sun. Dorian watches him go for a moment before gathering the others. They’ll have to ride quickly if they’re to warn the local Dalish tribe and make it to camp before the sun sets.

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> porn between the line breaks (not this one)

* * *

 

The camp is more subdued than usual. The death of the spirit they had come to save and Solas’s absence take their toll. Cole disappears as soon as they make camp. Blackwall and Varric sit quietly by the fire, sharing a bottle. Dorian stands a ways off, in the shadows, and watches them.

 

“You want company?” Bull’s voice is a quiet rumble from somewhere behind him.

 

Dorian smiles in spite of feeling down. “If it’s you, Carissmus, always.” Dorian sighs contentedly and leans back into Bull, who wraps his arms around Dorian’s smaller frame. He’s grateful for the warmth. The nights are starting to get colder. He makes a face. He hates the cold.

 

“You all right?” Bull murmurs, kissing the spot behind his ear.

 

Dorian shrugs. “We’re not this down when Adaar leads us. I suppose I’m not as good at this leadership thing as I’d like to believe.”

 

“If a battle goes badly with Adaar, they won’t let him know it. He’s not a foot soldier. He’s the Inquisitor. They can’t let him know if they’re down because they need him to be the title. They can let you know when they feel discouraged because you’re one of them, and they trust you.” Bull strokes Dorian’s hair, warm and soothing.

 

“Is that Ben Hassrath training, or are you just trying to make me feel better?” Dorian finds it doesn’t really matter what the answer is. The fact that Bull would lie to him to make him feel better is a strangely warm feeling.

 

“It’s habit to try and have everyone pegged,” Bull demurs. “Like I know you feel responsible for things going wrong today, even though Adaar could hardly have done better, and him having to extract himself from Skyhold would have gotten us here even later. Either those mages would have been dead, or Solas’s demon friend would have suffered even longer.”

 

Dorian bites back on the urge to argue the term demon. It’s not entirely inaccurate, but it seems wrong somehow. It was clearly not a demon at the end. But he’s too tired and sad to fight right now. “I’m still responsible. I offered to help. I just wasn’t enough.” He doesn’t know why that last hurts so much to acknowledge. He’s never been enough before. He doesn’t remember why he expected that to change.

 

“You did more than anyone else. I’m sure that when Solas is done mourning his friend, he’ll be grateful.” He’s gently guiding Dorian further into the darkness at the edge of camp, where the light from the fire doesn’t reach. His eyes adjust after a moment, and he can see a few flickers from the veilflies among the trees. It makes him smile a little to himself in spite of the heavy feeling weighing him down. There’s a grassy hollow where camp is just a glow on the horizon. The grass is a bit dewy, but Dorian lets Bull lie him in it and kiss him softly over and over again.

 

“I don’t want him to be grateful,” Dorian murmurs when Bull pauses to breathe. “I want him to not have lost his friend.”

 

Bull smiles softly at him. “ _You_ are his friend,” he ruffles Dorian’s hair. “He’ll realize that if he’s as smart as he thinks he is.” His face becomes more serious, sadder. “We all lose people, Kadan. I lost the Qun, and Gatt. Nearly lost Krem too, if you hadn’t been there to pull his tin-plated ass out of the fire.” He places gentle kisses on Dorian’s eyelids, his cheeks, his chin. “You lost your dad and that Felix kid and your mentor. Adaar lost his family. Varric lost his brother, that Hawke friend of his lost his, too.” He kisses Dorian’s lips, slowly and softly opening Doran’s mouth, until Dorian moans into the kiss. “We can’t always stay the same. Sometimes we have to move on. We can’t outlive everyone we care about, or none of us would ever die. It’s painful, but it’s the way things have to be.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like a Qun philosophy,” Dorian looks dubious.

 

“I don’t belong to the Qun anymore,” Bull smirks down at him, his eyes twinkling wickedly. “I belong to you.”

 

The words have their intended effect. Dorian feels better. “And I to you, and Adaar to both of us, and us to him.” He knows he has a big sappy smile on his face, but it really does make him happy. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

 

“Ben Hassrath training, remember? Grew up learning to manipulate people.” Bill looks away, staring off into the darkness. “When it’s a hostile target, you give them what they want. But when it’s someone you care about, you give them what they need.”

 

Dorian shoves Bull over onto his back and settles himself on top, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “Does it ever get to be about what you need?”

 

Bull chuckles. “Because spanking your ass red over those silk panties you wear is such a hardship? Old Iron Bull is just fine.”

 

Dorian sighs a little. “All right,” he knows he’s being blown off, but he tries to accept it gracefully. Just because his emotions are messily everywhere for the world to see doesn’t mean everyone has to be that way, he supposes.

 

“Hey,” Bull tucks the knuckle of his forefinger under Dorian’s chin. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising with Dorian on it. “The way I was trained... it’s a luxury to be able to give you what you need. I enjoy it.” He strokes Dorian’s  hair, meeting his eyes. “If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”

 

Dorian takes Bull’s hand in both of his and presses his cheek against it. “Thank you.”

 

Bull looks bemused and strokes his thumb along Dorian’s cheekbone. “Sometimes I forget not to protect you from what I am. Most people prefer the polite lie. Not you though.” He smiles, and his voice goes peculiarly soft. “You care about what’s real.” He curls up, and Dorian can feel the muscles in his stomach tightening. He spreads his hands over the muscles as Bull takes his face in those huge hands of his and kisses him breathless. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember that you appreciate the honesty from now on.” He sits all the way up, carrying Dorian with him until he’s straddling Bull’s lap.

 

The stretch in his thighs makes him blush. “Apology accepted,” he mumbles, hiding his face against Bull’s shoulder.

 

“Can I ask why you always hide your face like that?” Bull nuzzles his neck, placing small kisses just where it makes Dorian shiver. “You didn’t, that one night with Adaar, but if it’s just the two of us...” Bull lets himself trail off.

 

“Adaar asked me not to,” Dorian says, then takes it back, trying to be as honest as he can. “Well. Technically what he asked was for me not to muffle the cries I made while he was ravishing me,” he smirks a little. “I gathered that he enjoyed a certain kind of... exposure, on my part.” He tries not to let the strain  show as he continues, “It’s... somewhat difficult. To think, I once prided myself on the ability to hide my emotions.” He grimaces, ruefully. “To be perfectly honest, I’m torn on whether it’s better to be turned on by the vulnerability he demands or comforted by the way you ease me into it. Either way I feel stripped. It’s good, _really good_. But it’s exhausting, in a way.” Doran shrugs, uncomfortable with his own emotions.

 

Bull looks surprised, like Dorian’s said something profound. “That’s why you keep asking what I need? I don’t need a specific kind of sex to need you, Dorian. I chose you and Adaar over the Qun, over everything I’d ever known. I need you more than plants need sun or blades need blood,” he murmurs, close to Dorian’s ear. His voice has a curious tenderness to it that makes Dorian’s skin prickle. “Everything I was taught says sex and love are not the same thing. The passion I feel for you, felt for you even before you kissed me, defies all of that.” Bull clears his throat, a bit emotional, perhaps. “Being near you has changed me. You’ve led me down a path I would never have walked otherwise. And I’m grateful because loving you and Adaar this way isn’t something I’d ever have known otherw-”

 

Dorian can’t let him finish the sentence, he has to kiss him now. It really is a shame to interrupt the speech, more words than Bull really ever says aloud all at once, but Dorian cannot let him continue. Bull’s arms wrap around him and squeeze Dorian nearly breathless. Dorian gentles him by stroking the back of his neck, and realizes they are kissing in the cold and the wet with clothes on, when they could be in a tent. “Will you take me to bed, Carissmus?”

 

* * *

 

Bull shivers. “You ask so nicely, how could I say no?” and lifts Dorian, carrying him back to camp. Varric chuckles when he sees them and Blackwall rolls his eyes, but he smiles slyly at Dorian, who gives a small wave. Then Bull ducks into the tent and lays Dorian on the blankets.

 

He sits up immediately. “Let me?” He reaches for Bull’s belt but waits for his nod to undo it. He tugs down the ridiculous circus tent pants Bull insists on wearing, and Bull kicks them and his boots into a corner. Dorian kneels up, stroking Bull’s thighs. “It’s been awhile since I’ve done this, but I’d like to, if you’ll let me.” He looks up at Bull, hands on his thighs, stroking them softly.

 

Bull looks down at him, eyes wide. “Uh, most people take one look at my cock and decide to skip this part of the foreplay.” His cock twitches and Dorian nuzzles it.

 

“Has no one ever...?” Dorian asks, locking gazes with Bull as he nuzzles, sticking his tongue out for the tiniest tease of a lick.

 

“Sometimes, but not in... not since I left Seheron.” Bull swallows, his breathing unsteady.

 

“Well, I’m feeling determined,” Dorian grins. He licks the head of Bull’s cock like it’s ice cream. It’s soft and salty under his tongue, and his cock is fully hard after just a few seconds.

 

Bull groans, “Taarsidath-an halsaam,” and cards his fingers through Dorian’s hair. He’s so gentle, for being as huge as he is. Dorian shivers at the thought.

 

Dorian licks Bull’s shaft until the skin is slick, working it with his hands. It’s difficult to get his mouth around the head, he can feel the stretch at the corners of his mouth. He sucks, experimentally, and Bull whimpers. Dorian’s eyes, previously focused on the task at hand, fly to Bull’s face. His eyes are screwed shut and his hands have moved from Dorian’s hair to clutch at his own thighs, hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He pulls off with an involuntarily lewd slurping sound that makes him blush, and Bull gasps in a breath above him. He pants as if he’s been drowning. “Are you all right, Carissmus?”

 

Bull is still breathing hard. He sounds almost drunk when he answers. “S’good. Don’t stop?” The end lifts, turning it into a question and Dorian briefly considers turning the tables. The idea of making Bull beg has its attractions, and Dorian’s cock twitches under his robes.

 

He files the idea away for later, perhaps. Right now he’s content to continue without any fuss. “As you wish,”  Dorian licks the head once before working his mouth back around the head. He sucks gently, and Bull’s breath stutters in his throat. Dorian moves one hand to cradle his bollocks, stroking the soft skin with his fingertips. Bull trembles. It’s thrilling to have him be so responsive. Dorian thinks of the sword swallowers who perform in the public square in Minrathous. He slowly pushes forward. Bull is considerably thicker than a sword, and he has to pull back to breathe. When he pushes forward again, Bull makes a high pitched, keening sound. Dorian can actually feel his cock throb. He pulls back and pushes forward again, and again, moving a bit faster, stopping when Bull’s cock hits the back of his throat. He takes a deep breath, and pushes forward, swallowing around the head of Bull's cock.

 

Bull’s cock throbs again. “I’m...” he begins, but it’s too late, he’s coming. He trembles under Dorian’s hands, shaking apart. Dorian swallows, but some still leaks out of his mouth at the corners. He’s sure he looks a mess, but he ignores it and keeps suckling the head of Bull’s rapidly softening cock. He expects Bull to push him off, but his hands just go to Dorian’s hair, stroking it gently. He shudders, probably over sensitive for Dorian’s continued attention. Dorian is curious as to why Bull isn’t stopping him, but he stops himself, pulling off gently. He stays kneeling at Bull’s feet while he gets his breath back.

 

For a long moment they gaze at each other, Dorian’s hands resting softly on Bull’s thighs. Then Bull grabs him and kisses him, groaning at the taste of himself in Dorian’s mouth. He pulls at Dorian’s robes, growling in frustration when they don’t come off easily. Dorian chuckles, “You can tear them off if you promise to pay for the repairs after.”

 

Bull stares at him. There’s beat where everything is very silent and still. “Really?” Bull’s breath is still coming fast and hard, like he’s been running.

 

Dorian just nods, a bit awed at Bull showing him this. It’s not a loss of control, precisely, but a relinquishing of some of it, perhaps. Dorian gives himself over to it, trusting that Bull won’t take it far enough to truly hurt him. The tearing sound goes straight to his cock.

 

Bull tosses the shreds of his robes to one side and leans down to suck a love bite into his neck. He feels hot against Dorian’s suddenly chilled skin. Dorian wraps both his arms and his legs around him, wanting as much contact as he can get, suddenly touch hungry with an intensity that startles him. Bull seems to understand, keeping Dorian from being crushed under him by resting his weight on one arm, stroking the exposed skin along his other side from shoulder to thigh with his free hand and kissing him over and over until he is able to relax into it.

 

When Dorian is pliant under him, Bull moves his mouth down over Dorian’s body, kissing or sometimes just dragging his lips across the skin, his breath nearly as hot as the hands that grip his thighs and push them apart just before that breath washes over his cock. Bull just gives it a soft kiss and bypasses it to suck another love bite into Dorian’s thigh. Dorian thinks, in a muddled kind of way, that being marked shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but his breathing goes ragged in spite of him. Bull nips the purpling bruise and Dorian gasps loudly in surprise at the sharp shock of pleasure that goes straight to his balls.

 

“Sorry,” Bull rumbles, pressing a kiss to the spot that is nice, but not nearly as pleasurable.

 

Dorian shakes his head. “No, please. Don’t stop.” He puts a hand to the back of Bull’s head, guiding it back down. Bull licks the spot, but Dorian wants more. “Bite, please. I’ll stop you if it gets to be too much, I promise. Please?” His voice cracks on the last word, and he couldn’t put words to why he wants this one thing so much right at this moment, but when Bull closes his teeth around the tender flesh of his thigh, the breathy noise he makes is nearly a sigh of relief. “Harder, please,” he begs breathlessly.

 

Bull’s teeth tighten their grip and Doran’s breathy cries as he rides the strange waves of pleasure and pain fill the tent. When Bull’s fingers appear at his mouth he thinks of it as a way to quiet them, but quickly realizes that any other lubrication they may have brought with them is still in their packs. He sucks sloppily until Bull’s fingers are slick with spit and is rewarded by one slowly pushing into him. The burn as he stretches around Bull’s finger makes him cry out again, but it’s all pleasure at this point. Bull finally releases his thigh and turns his attention to Dorian’s cock, licking the shaft before sucking him in. Dorian’s fingers grip the blankets underneath him and he writhes with pleasure he can’t contain.

 

Bull keeps him there, on the edge of orgasm, somehow knowing just how to keep him desperate with fingers and tongue, until Dorian is beyond begging for release, just breathlessly crying, “Please, please,” over and over again. Bill’s hand slides up the inside of his thigh, and his thumb presses into the imprint of his teeth, and Dorian cries out, not falling but flying over the edge of orgasm.

 

Dorian strokes his head and horns as Bull licks him clean. He brushes a finger over the swiftly blackening bruise on Dorian's thigh, making sure the skin is intact. The touch is still surprisingly pleasurable, and Dorian shivers. Bull smiles up at him. “Liked that, huh?”

 

Dorian nods. “I feel like it should hurt, but it really doesn’t at all.”

 

Bull kisses the softness of his belly and shifts upward so Dorian is eye to eye with him when Bull pulls him close. “Either way, watching you ride back to Skyhold tomorrow will be fun,” he grins.

 

Dorian just laughs softly, feeling a little like he’s floating an inch above the blankets. He’s starting to chill, though, so he presses closer to Bull, who rearranges them so the blankets are on top of them. Dorian can’t seem to touch down, so he clings tighter to Bull. “I feel like I might float off if I go to sleep.”

 

Bull shifts them slightly, so Dorian is on his back, with his head resting on Bull’s shoulder. He throws a heavy thigh over Dorian legs and pulls Dorian’s arm across his body, entwining their fingers so their hands rest on his belly. “Better?” he asks, pressing a kiss into Dorian’s hair.

 

And for all that he knows it should be uncomfortable, all Dorian feels is safe. He hums, pleased. “Thank you, Carrissmus.”

 

“Anytime, Kadan.” Dorian can hear the smile in Bull’s voice, and it follows him down into dreams.

***

* * *

 

The ride home is uneventful except for the occasional leading question from Varric. Dorian entertains himself by pretending to misunderstand them as about the wildlife of Exalted Plains and answering accordingly. Eventually Varric catches on to the double entendre and nearly laughs himself off his horse. Dorian smirks, feeling a bit triumphant.

 

The feeling of triumph doesn’t last long when he returns to Skyhold. Solas and Adaar are the only people standing in the deserted courtyard. The courtyard has been second only to the tavern as a place to congregate since it was repaired. It's unusual for there not to be a crowd enjoying the garden in groups or couples. Dorian is about to ask what’s going on when Cole appears out of thin air, clinging to his arm. “He won’t bind me. He’s a mage and he likes demons, but he won't help!” Cole shouts angrily.

 

“Wait, what?” Dorian says, feeling lost. Clearly there was a conversation happening before he got there. Cole disappears again. Dorian turns to Solas, “Why does he want you to bind him?”

 

Solas lifts his hands in a helpless shrug. “We haven’t been able to get him to calm down enough to explain.” Solas looks even paler than usual, and Dorian supposes that between this and the grief he is under some strain. He squeezes the elf’s shoulder, and Solas gives him a wan smile.

 

“I’m glad you made it back all right.” Dorian says.

 

Solas’s smile gets a tiny bit deeper. “I was alone long before I met you, Serah Pavus. I was in no danger.” He enunciates slowly, like Dorian might not have heard him the first time.

 

Dorian rolls his eyes. “I was worried anyway. Hush.” He turns away and studies the courtyard. “Solas doesn’t do blood magic, Cole. You know that. Can you come talk to me? I might be able to help you if I know what you want.” Cole’s shadow appears and speeds across the courtyard.

 

Cole appears atop a stone pillar. “You don’t understand!”

 

“I know I don’t, Mellitus. That’s why I need you to explain to me.” Dorian sits carefully on a bench, slow movements so as not to startle him. “Can you come sit with me? There’s no one here but Solas and the Inquisitor and I. Nothing to hurt you here. We can send for Varric too, if you want. No one here but friends.” Dorian pats the seat beside him.

 

Cole disappears from atop the pillar, and reappears in front of Dorian, pacing manically two paces in one direction, three in the other. “If Solas won’t do the ritual to bind me, someone else could!” He stops in front of Dorian, shaking with the effort of holding still. “I thought I couldn’t be like the demons at Adamant, I thought I was safe because I wasn’t like them. I wanted to help and they wanted to hurt. But they took Solas’s friend from the Fade! They took Wisdom and made her hurt! I’m like her! They can bind me and make me hurt! And then...” Cole’s head bows, like the weight of the realization is too heavy for him, his ridiculous hat shading his haunted eyes. Dorian folds his hands in his lap to keep from startling him by physically reaching out, wanting to let him finish.

 

“I'm not me any more. Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster.” Cole’s voice shakes, he’s clearly terrified.

 

Adaar has moved to stand behind Dorian while Cole was pacing. He squeezes Dorian’s shoulder, and gently addresses Cole. “A mage using blood magic could do that to any of us, Cole. Human or Spirit. It wouldn’t matter.”

 

“You should ask Solas to bind you too, then!” And then Dorian can bind him!” Cole flits to the other side of the courtyard, and Adaar steps back. Cole clearly feels overwhelmed by two of them too close to him right now.

 

Dorian stands and carefully approaches where Cole is hunched by a tree, sitting and then pulling Cole into his arms when he doesn’t flit away again. “I’m sure there’s something between doing nothing and binding you with blood magic, Mellitus. It would break my heart if we lost the parts of you that make you, you.”

 

“Helping makes me what I am.” Cole insists. “I help the hurting. It is what I do, all I do, am, me!”

 

Dorian strokes his back, tugging off the huge hat and pulling him closer, tucking the boy’s head under his chin, stroking his hair and making soft shushing sounds. Solas comes closer. “We would miss you if binding you erased your mind, Cole. Your consciousness.”

 

“ _You_ wouldn’t make me hurt innocent people!” Cole yells at him from the safety of Dorian’s arms. “I don’t want to hurt innocent people again!

 

Adaar crouches near them, in Cole’s line of sight. “We’ll find a way to protect you without binding you Cole. Without hurting you. And we’ll keep you safe until we’ve found it. I promise, okay?”

 

Cole nods sullenly, and Solas chimes in. “I may have a suggestion, if Cole is ready to hear one that isn’t blood magic.” Cole nods sullenly. Dorian continues to pet him while Solas explains about Rivaini amulets. “The resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a talisman, could they not?” he concludes.

 

“They could,” Adaar agrees. “I’ll go speak to Leliana right away.” He stops only to give Dorian a soft kiss before heading for the Nightingale’s tower.

 

Solas tilts his head at Dorian, probably wanting to know if it would be better for him to go or stay to try and help. Since there’s nothing to be done immediately and Cole still seems to be seething about Solas refusing to bind him Dorian just smiles and shakes his head. Solas sketches a bow, and very old fashioned Tevinter way of saying thanks in the fold of his hands at his chest. Dorian is again floored at how much Solas seems to know of his homeland as he watches the elf head back to his painting.

 

“Just us now, Mellitus. Do you want to come up to my room? We can close the door and you won’t have to see anyone but me.” Cole nods, and Dorian keeps an arm around him as they ascend the stairs to his room.

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

Bull finds them there still at dinner time. Dorian has tacked a blanket to the wall, and he and Cole are in the “tent” created by tucking the other end under the mattress on the other side of the bed. Dorian’s been reading aloud from one of the histories he had lying around the room. Cole occasionally interjects with a tangentially related painful moment. Dorian lets him, unbothered.

 

“Adaar told me you might need some food,” Bull says, carrying a basket from the kitchens.

 

“I don’t eat,” Cole says, peering into the basket curiously anyway. Bull rests it on the bed and crouches down for a kiss, which Dorian gladly gives him. Cole peers at them, “Tied, but tenderly, loving in the letters of a word that would stop it, knots in satin scarves,” he says, hushed, like he’s speaking in a cathedral.

 

Dorian blushes. Bull chuckles, “That’s between us, kid. Think you can keep that to yourself?”

 

Cole tilts his head at Bull. “Not a secret, but not giving ammunition to those who would use it to hurt. Silence as a wall to protect. Yes. I understand.” He pauses. “I don’t think Mother Giselle’s hat will fit there.” Dorian buries his face in the pillow to muffle the guffaw that elicits.

 

Bull laughs too. “You can talk about it here, with us if you want. Just not in front of everyone.”

 

Dorian lifts his head to smile at Bull. He’s grateful. He knows Cole makes Bull uncomfortable. But Dorian doesn’t have many friends. Cole is like a little brother. Feeling like family hasn’t in a long time. He bumps his shoulder against Cole’s who is sniffing the plums and balancing him on the footboard of Dorian’s bed, one by one. “If you like the way they smell, you could taste one you know,” Dorian grins down at him.

 

Cole looks up at him. “I... make you happy. Like Bull or the Inquisitor, but not quite the same. Warm. Summer sun, lemonade. The servant’s children splashing in the fountain. You join them even though you know you’re not allowed to. He punishes you, but you’re not sorry. You write the lines he tells you to, but to you they all say rebellion. It was worth it.”

 

Dorian’s smile goes crooked. It’s a sad memory, but it was worth it. “You do make me happy. I always wanted a brother.” He ruffles Cole’s hair. His stomach growls. He missed lunch taking care of Cole, and that was after riding to Skyhold from camp.

 

Bull breaks a biscuit open, spreading some jam on it. It’s still warm. “The cook seems to think you don’t eat enough,” he tells Dorian. “I suspect she’d say that about you too kid, but none of the kitchen staff seem to remember you.” He hands Dorian the biscuit.

 

Cole shrugs. “They’re scared of me. Strange boy, doesn’t move right, magic, mage, monster. It’s better for them to forget.”

 

“Why do you let us remember, then?” Bull quirks an eyebrow. Dorian just nibbles his biscuit and jam and watches them. “Sera’s at least as freaked out by you as the servants.”

 

“If she forgot me,” Cole says earnestly, building a pyramid of plums that topples because there aren’t enough to make the bottom as wide as it need to be, “she might hit me by mistake in a fight.”

 

“Mmmm,” Bull makes an agreeable sound, “I think that would be really disappointing for her. She’d want to do that on purpose.”

 

Cole shakes his head. “She thinks if she touched me, I’d possess her. Monsters they tell stories about but she’s never seen. It frightens her more than demons coming from the rifts. You can’t shoot a story with an arrow.” Bull nods, showing Cole how to make the base  of his pyramid out of biscuits, so so he can rest the plums in the spaces between them. “ _Tama, how will I follow the Qun?_ Her hands, strong but gentle, ruffling little stubs where the horns will be. Y _ou are strong, and your mind is sharp. You will solve problems others cannot_. She smiles, but sadly.”

 

“Looks like my old Tamassran was wrong,” Bull sighs. Dorian puts a hand over his on the bed. “Bet she’s pissed one of her kids went Tal Vashoth."

 

Cole tilts his head, as if listening to far off voices. “Agents with hushed tones. Eyes stinging, forms to fill out. Course corrections, reduce risk of similar losses. _I remember the little boy. Too wise, eager to help._ Words break in small secret spaces. He got away! _He got away_.”

 

Bull looks pale, and Dorian squeezes his hand. “How could you know that? You’ve never even met her!”

 

Cole’s response is simple. “Your hurt touches hers.” He shrugs a little, knowing he’s made Bull uncomfortable and clearly unhappy with that.

 

Bull visibly calms himself. “Well. That’s.... creepy. But thanks.” He ruffles Cole’s hair with his free hand.

 

Cole just nods, obviously assuming silence is the better part of valor in this case. Dorian’s heart clenches, and he wonders if the people he loves most will ever be in a room together without making each other unhappy. Cole looks at him, but says nothing. Dorian decides that a subject change is in order. “I suppose we’ll have to build a bigger tent if Bull is staying.”

 

“You’re indoors, Dorian. What on earth do you need a tent for?” Bull looks at the haphazard structure dubiously.

 

Cole does a fine Dorian imitation. “ _Sometimes things are more fun when they don’t make sense._ ”

 

Dorian laughs. “That’s the answer I gave him when he asked the same question,” he admonishes, clambering over the footboard and then turning to help Cole with his plums.

 

Twenty minutes later, the bed is balanced between the desk and the dresser with blankets draped over it, and Bull has gotten more pillows and blankets from who knows where, and the three of them are ensconced in what Dorian declares a “fort” this time.

 

Bull pretends to be insulted. “A fort needs canons. Ammunition. Supplies!” he exclaims.

 

Dorian throws a pillow he’s fairly certain belongs to Josephine, given the embroidery, right at Bull’s head. “I have all the ammunition I need,” he declares loftily. Cole doesn’t really join in the ensuing pillow fight, but Dorian is pleased when he laughs, delighted.

 

Cole doesn’t sleep, Dorian knows, but he stays through the night, snuggled close to Dorian. He and Bull take turns leaving for morning necessities, so he needn’t be alone. Bull brings them breakfast and Dorian eats. Boiled eggs and blueberry scones and fresh apples, now that the weather is getting colder. Cole sniffs them, but doesn’t eat. Dorian’s read-aloud audience is slightly larger. Cole’s asides include bits and pieces from Bull’s memories now, too. Dorian is reading a soldier’s account of a battle, describing how one large opponent had cut his way though a battlefield with a flail made for wheat when his sword had broken, when Cole breaks in, “Raw and hot, trying to open it, but just darkness. How bad? How Bad? No. Done now, no sense worrying. The man they hurt coughs. Shaking, but sits up. Eyes wide. No, not a man, a woman. Clothes torn. _You’re safe now. I’m Iron Bull. What do you want me to call you?_ ”

 

Bull smiles crookedly and ruffles Cole’s hair. “Krem’s worth the eye and then some. Don’t worry about me.”

 

Cole touches the scarring around Bulls patch. “Do you always let people hit you so they don’t hit someone smaller? In some fights you make them hit you so they won’t hit me. But you don’t like demons.”

 

“Hmph,” Bull grumps. Dorian smiles. Bull hates to have his soft side pointed out. “You’re a weird squirrelly kid, Cole, but you’re _my_ weird, squirrelly kid, understand?”

 

“Oh,” Cole’s face lights up. “Thank you!” For the first time, he curls between Bull and Dorian, resting his head on Bull’s arm.

 

Bull smiles, a little awkwardly. He’s unused to this kind of affection, Dorian can tell. “So when we run into a big guy with a shield?”

 

Cole’s eyes close. “You are big, boasting, battering, and I blend behind. Daggers in darkness. One. Two. Three.” He smiles, and it’s more like Bull’s grin than his own shy smile.

 

Bull looks a little confused. “Assuming that means what I think it does, great.” He grins back.

 

“Can I continue now, or do the two of you want to play battle tactics?” Dorian gripes without heat. He’s pleased beyond words to see Bull and Cole getting along. Bull leans over the top of Cole’s head to kiss Dorian. It’s one of the best mornings Dorian can remember having.

 

It’s late in the afternoon when Adaar comes. He laughs at the fort, but joins them inside. “The Rivaini were quite happy to see us trying to help a spirit. They sent the amulet by raven so it would get here quickly.” He hands a brooch to Cole, who turns it over in his hands, studying it. It’s nondescript, functional. Dorian wonders if there’s a reason for that, or if they just didn’t bother to make it prettier. “Would you like to try it on?” Adaar asks, putting a caring hand on Cole’s shoulder.

 

Cole doesn’t seem to notice or care that the amulet is ugly. He looks at Adaar. “Yes, but not here,” he replies breathlessly. “I like it here. We need someplace that can go away if it becomes sharp.”

 

“We should let Solas know, at any rate,” Dorian chimes in.

 

So they all head to the Hall, together. Bull lifts Cole to his shoulders at the bottom of the stairs, in defiance of how the crowd in the garden stares. Dorian takes his hand and loops his arm through Adaar’s, leaning into him a little as they walk across the garden. Cole jumps down so Bull can fit through the door and they walk across the hall to find Solas reading at his desk.

 

“What do I do with it?” Cole demands. He’s still angry, though less so. Dorian is concerned. If Cole is truly a spirit, the way he holds on to emotions is troubling.

 

“You found one of the amulets? Excellent. May I?” Solas approaches Cole, who shies back a step toward Dorian. Dorian puts a steadying arm around his shoulders. Whatever happens today, he’ll have to put some work into helping Solas repair his relationship with Cole. Cole hands the amulet over somewhat reluctantly. Solas studies it for a moment. “It is simple enough. You put it on, I charge it with magic, and you should be protected.

 

Adaar approaches Cole from the other side, stroking his hair. “Are you ready Cole?” Cole bows his head.

 

Dorian chuckles a little. “I sincerely hope this works. Nothing we try ever just works the first time.” Adaar laughs.

 

Bull just shrugs. “We’ll kick the problem’s ass like we always do.”

 

Solas rolls his eyes at them, and pins the brooch to Cole’s shirt. Cole doesn’t look up, so the elf takes a deep breath and gathers his magic, attempting to charge the amulet.

 

There’s pop, Cole cries out, and Dorian’s ears ring from the magical blowback. “I told you it never just works,” he shouts over the ringing in his ears.

 

Varric comes in to see what the commotion was about. “What was that?” He sees Cole holding his head. “Oh, for... What are you doing to the kid?”

 

Cole turns to answer him, and Dorian lets him go. “Stopping mages from binding me like Solas’s friend. But it didn’t work.” Cole’s shoulder’s slump.

 

Varric looks at Solas distrustfully, and then to Dorian. “And exactly whose idea was that?”

 

“Mine!” Cole shouts. “I don’t want to hurt innocent people.” Dorian gathers the boy into his arms again, holding him tightly. Cole’s anger is starting to scare him. He fears losing him to it.

 

“Something is interfering with the enchantment,” Solas muses.

 

“Something like Cole not being a demon?” Varric replies, crossing his arms.

 

Adaar nods at that. “Solas, is it possible that the amulet doesn’t work on Cole because he’s too... human?”

 

“Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances, he remains a spirit.” Solas insists, and even Dorian rolls his eyes.

 

“But clearly he’s not just a spirit,” Dorian says. “Something else is going on here.”

 

Cole pulls away and paces the room, “I don’t matter! Just lock away the parts of me someone else could knot together to make me follow!”

 

Dorian grabs Cole by the arms, shaking him a little. “You DO matter! You matter to me. Stop saying you don’t matter!” Cole leans into Dorian, caving to Dorian’s pain over his own, and Dorian instantly feels guilty.

 

However, now that Cole is still and calm they can try to find a solution. “Focus on the amulet, Cole.” Solas instructs. “Tell me what you feel.”

 

Cole goes still in Dorian’s arms. “Warm, soft, blanket covering, but it catches, tears. I’m the wrong shape. There’s something...” He turns without letting go of Dorian, pointing west. “There. That way.”

 

“Whatever it is, we’ll find it,” Adaar reassures him.

 

Varric pats Cole on the back. “All right kid. Get Cullen and work with him on the map to figure out where you’re sensing something wrong.”

 

Cole nods, letting go of Dorian reluctantly. “Will you come with me? All of you?”

 

Dorian pulls Cole back in to hug him and kiss the top of his head. “Of course we will, Mellitus.” He lets Cole go, and watches him stride toward the war room.

 

Once he’s gone, Varric turns to Solas. “All right I get it. You like spirits. But he came into this world to be a person. Let him be one.”

 

Seeing Solas bristle, Adaar intervenes. “If there’s a way to protect Cole without taking away what he is, we’ll look into that first. But clearly he needs our help. And we’re going to give it to him, whatever it is.”

 

“I’m not saying we do nothing. But that ritual of theirs only works on demons, right?” He turns to address the question to Solas.

 

“This is not some fanciful story, Child of the Stone.” Dorian rolls his eyes at the epithet. “We cannot change our nature by wishing.”

 

“You both need to stop pulling at him!” Dorian interjects. “Solas is more comfortable seeing him as a spirit, and Varric wants him to be human, but the truth is he’s both and neither, and by forcing the choice on him instead of letting him make it, you’re tearing at him the same way those bloody fools tore at your friend, Solas.” Dorian’s arms are crossed, his body rigid, and he shrugs off the gentling hand Adaar puts on his back.

 

Bull, who has been silent until now, breaks in. “Whatever he decides, it’s probably a good idea to let him find whatever it is he’s sensing so we can deal with it. Leaving it out there to interfere with him probably isn’t good for the kid.”

 

Dorian is able to relax a little at that. Trust Bull to talk sense. Adaar gently puts a hand on his shoulder again, and Dorian turns into it this time, letting Adaar pull him close and melting against him. Varric stops to squeeze his hand by way of apology on his way out. Solas sniffs and goes back to reading at his desk. Adaar sighs and guides Dorian toward his quarters. Bull walks them to the door, and then kisses the top of Dorian’s head and Adaar’s forehead, right where his horns start.

 

“I’ll go check in with Cullen and Cole and let the quartermaster know where we’re going. I’ll come up with dinner in a little while?” he says.

 

“What about Cole?” Dorian worries.

 

“I think Cassandra will look after him for a while. I’ll let her know to keep him far away from the bickering.” Bull smirks a bit, ruefully.

 

Adaar smiles too. “Let him know he can come find us, or more specifically, Dorian, if he needs.”

 

Bull huffs a laugh. “And here I was hoping I’d come back to find the two of you naked. But I suppose waiting won’t kill me.”

 

Dorian swats him. “Your mind is a straight path that only goes to one place, isn’t it?”

 

“You like it,” Bull kisses him, smiles smugly, and heads out of the Hall.

 

Dorian, for his part, rolls his eyes and lets Adaar guide him up the stairs.

***

The next morning they set out. Cole eventually guides them to a village just over the bridge from Val Royeaux. A man meets them on the path, looking nervous. That’s not exactly unusual since the Inquisition started, but it’s happening less now that word is spreading of what they actually do. Mostly, they’ve helped a lot of people. The man in front of them is still wringing his hands, though. “Greetings,” he calls when they are in earshot. “Can I help you?”

 

Cole freezes halfway up the small hill they’re climbing. “You,” he whispers, his voice paradoxically gone soft with fury. He flits forward, bearing the unsuspecting man to the ground, and they all run after him. He’s palming the man’s head and exuding an energy that makes Dorian a little dizzy and a lot nauseous. “You killed me.”

 

The man clearly doesn’t recognize Cole. “What? I don’t.... I don’t even know you!” His hands go up, pleading. Dorian feels like he can’t move. He doesn’t know what to do.

 

The energy gets stronger, making the air hum. “You forgot. You locked me in the dungeon in the Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!” The hand Cole isn’t using to hold his murderer down is raised above his head, fist clenched around his dagger.

 

“Cole! Stop!” Dorian has never heard Solas yell before, and it startles everyone. The murderer runs, and Cole follows him a few steps before Varric intercepts him.

 

“Just take it easy, kid.” Varric holds up his hands.

 

“He killed me! _He killed me!_ That’s why it doesn’t work. He killed me and I have to kill him back!” Cole stabs the air viciously with his extended finger, pointing in the direction the murderer ran.

 

Adaar tries to scale the situation back a little. “Before anyone gets killed, I need to know what’s going on.”

 

Solas comes closer. “Cole, this man cannot have killed you. You are a spirit. You have not even possessed a body.”

 

Cole hunches in on himself. “A broken body. Bloody, banged on the stone cell. Guts gripping in the dark dank. A captured apostate.” As he recounts the memory though, he stands straighter, like remembering is making him stronger. They threw him in the dungeon in the Spire at Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death.” There are tears on his face as he looks up. “I came through to help. But I couldn’t. So I became him.” He takes a deep breath. “ _Cole_.”

 

Varric squeezes his hand. “So if Cole was an apostate, that’s make the guy we just saw a templar. Must’ve been buying lyrium,” he muses.

 

Cole breaks away, more slowly this time, stalking in the direction the ex-templar was last seen running. “Let me kill him. I need to-” he stops himself, and Dorian silently wills him to say what he needs that isn’t killing. But he just says, “I _need_ to.”

 

They let him walk a ways away, and Adaar turns. “Solas?” he queries.

 

“We can’t let him kill the man!” Solas insists. Dorian wonders why, because he kind of wants to kill the man himself.

 

Varric breaks in before Dorian’s mouth opens. “I don’t think anyone was going to suggest that, Chuckles.”

 

“Cole is a spirit. The death of the real Cole wounded him. Perverted him from his purpose.” Solas intones. “To regain that part of himself, he must forgive.”

 

The suggestion makes Dorian angry, but he holds his tongue. It’s not his decision to make. Varric scoffs, “Come on! You don’t just forgive someone killing you.”

 

“ _You_ don’t.” Solars demurs, and Dorian edges closer to furious at his smugness. “A spirit can.”

 

Adaar pauses a minute to take that in, then turns to the dwarf. “Varric, what do you think?”

 

Varric shrugs. “The kid’s angry. He needs to work through it.”

 

Solas draws himself up to his full height, rigid. “A spirit does not work through emotions. It embodies them!”

 

“But he isn’t a spirit, is he?” Varric argues. “He made himself human and humans change. They get hurt and they heal.” Varric takes a breath, clearly reigning in some emotion on the subject. “He needs to work it out like a person.”

 

Solas is indignant. “You would alter the essence of what he is!”

 

“He did that to himself when he left the Fade,” Varric insists. “I’m just helping him survive it.”

 

Solas draws himself up for another tirade, and Dorian intercedes. “Both of you would change the fabric of what he is. What he _is_ is neither human nor spirit, but somewhere in between. He can’t stay the way he is and be safe, Solas. He has to change.” Dorian turns toward the elf. “His emotions are already warping him. You saw him as we all did just now. He can’t go back. The road he’s on only leads in one direction. Let Varric help him. The only emotion he wants to embody right now is anger. His anger over a boy wrongfully murdered in a horrible way.” Dorian has to swallow before the sadness choking him gets too big to speak past. “He’s chosen. We run less of a risk of losing him by allowing him the choice.”

***

 

Dorian knows that the weight of his opinion will sway Adaar to Varric’s side. He follows when Varric goes to find Cole. “Thanks for the help, Sparkler. I wasn’t expecting you to come down on my side of that argument.”

 

“I didn’t.” Dorian says, distantly. His grief is heavy. “I came down on Cole’s side.”

 

Varric just nods, looking a little sad, himself. They find Cole looking a little lost a little way from where the trail ends. Varric looks around and sees the ex-templar’s tracks. “All right kid. You want revenge? Come with me.” They follow Varric, the templar springs out of hiding and runs ahead of them, but the path falls off sharply into a cliff, and he’s forced to turn and face them.

 

He falls to his knees. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Sorry isn’t going to help him now, is it kid?” Varric nudges Cole.

 

“No.” Cole says, still radiating anger.

 

Varric winds back Bianca, but doesn’t put a bolt in. He hands the contraption to Cole. “Then pull the trigger and put him down like a mad dog.” Cole takes the crossbow and pulls the trigger with a yell. He looks confused when the contraption makes a snapping sound as it releases the string, but doesn’t fire. Varric takes Bianca and slings her into the harness across his back. “How you doing kid? Feel any better?”

 

Cole is shaking, and Dorian aches to reach out to him. “No.”

Varric nods sadly. “You can’t make it all just go away,” he sighs. “I learned that the hard way.

 

The murderer struggles to his feet and Cole reaches for him. “Forget.”

 

Varric stops him. “He needs to remember. You too.”

  
“He’ll have to know what his crimes are before he answers for them to the Inquisition.” Dorian adds, grimly. Varric looks a little surprised, but doesn’t object when Dorian urges the ex-templar toward camp with the blade end of his staff. Leaving Cole with Varric, Solas and Adaar to walk back at a more leisurely pace. Bull accompanies him, but respects his silence and his space, only wrapping himself around Dorian when they’ve put Cole’s murderer in chains on a wagon bound for Skyhold’s dungeon. Even then, he doesn’t ask Dorian to speak, just holds him until the others arrive and everyone gathers around the fire for supper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have decided that this fic will end where the game does. Never fear, though, gentle readers. "After" will just be covered in a different fic or an epilogue depending on how it pans out. There might be a longer hiatus if I'm actually able to move, and I think ending the fic in a good place before dealing with the next mess will be more emotionally bolstering for your author. :D Thanks for bearing with me!


	25. Chapter 25

Solas seems distant. Dorian doesn’t have to wonder long what he’s upset about. As soon as Cole wanders away, out of earshot he rounds on Adaar angrily. “For all we know, the amulet will now never function. Cole remains vulnerable to binding!”

 

Varric shakes his head. “No, he isn’t. The amulet didn’t work because he’s too human, right?” He pauses, waiting for Solas to respond, but forges onward anyway when the elf refuses to admit the truth. “Maybe now he’s also too human for that binding magic to work on him.”

 

Solas sniffs. “I hope you’re right.”

 

Dorian sighs. “With Cole’s permission, I’ll test it when we get home. But I’m only agreeing to do that because I believe Varric is correct, and Cole can’t be bound any longer.” He’s hurting for the Cole he knows, and angry for the first Cole, and he just wants the bickering to stop.

 

Just then the boy in question stumbles back into camp, still holding his belly. He half collapses at Dorian’s feet. “It still hurts,” he says absently. “When do I stop hurting?”

 

Dorian tugs off the ridiculous hat and strokes Cole’s hair away from his face. He feels warm, human, alive, just like he always does. “If it’s your belly you might actually be hungry. We can fix that easily. If it’s your heart...” Dorian sighs. “I’ll let you know if it ever happens.” He scoots off the log he’d been sitting on to pull Cole close.

 

Cole leans his head on Dorian’s shoulder. “I think I understand why it isn’t enough, now.”

 

Dorian blinks. “What isn’t, Mellitus?”

 

“You said love wasn’t enough. It couldn’t save the real Cole. It’s why you try to love me with food. _Sweet boy, too thin, he’ll blow off the ramparts one of these days. Feed him, keep him here and whole and loved._ ” His eyes drift closed. “You wanted me to be a person, like Varric, but you wouldn’t say because you wanted me to be me, more. Love isn’t enough. You have to let a snowflake be a snowflake even if you love waterfalls. You didn’t want what you wanted to melt me.” He opens his eyes again, fingers lifting to touch Dorian’s cheek. “You let me choose even though you knew it would hurt.”

 

Varric looks concerned, “Is the kid okay? He’s talking nonsense.”

 

Dorian blinks and swallows, much too emotional for his own good. He shakes his head at Varric. “It’s not nonsense at all.” He looks down at Cole and summons his best smile. “We understand each other perfectly.”

 

“The left hand misses a friend with two different names. She’s hurting, sad, alone, but...” Cole sits up, distressed. “Everyone can see me now. They remember. How will I put honey in Leliana’s wine without her noticing?”

 

Varric smiles. “I can help you with that when we get back to Skyhold, kid. Don’t you worry.”

 

Even Solas seems mollified by the exchange. “It is good that he is not entirely changed, however human he becomes.”

 

Adaar, who has been watching without saying anything, breaks in. “We should do something fun tomorrow. Maybe spend the day in Val Royeaux. We need to see a tailor about uniforms for the ball, and the city is probably the best place to find one anyway.”

 

Dorian smiles at him. Everyone but Cole knows full well Josephine hired a tailor ages ago. “Of course,” he adds. “It’ll be nice to drink something that isn’t the vinegar they like to serve at Skyhold, for once.”

“We’ll make a party out of it.” Adaar smiles back. Cole blinks at them, sensing subtext but not understanding. Dorian ruffles his hair, and Cole smiles, too.

***

Lunch is a bit awkward at first, especially when Cole tells the maître d'hôtel that he doesn’t eat. But the power of the Inquisition is such that he is still overjoyed to seat them. Cole sits next to Dorian, and leans in to whisper to him. “He saw me. They all see me.”

Dorian squeezes his shoulder encouragingly. “Soon you’ll be eating and drinking, and everything else.”

“What else is there?” Cole wants to know.

Dorian is at a loss, but Bull, sitting on the other side of him, chuckles. “Have you used the privy yet? That should be enlightening.”

Adaar sits across from him, flanked by Solas and Varric, and laughs. “Besides Cole, if you only interact with people that are hurting, you miss out on all the fun.”

Cole tilts his head, clearly considering asking precisely what fun is, but says instead, “I find people when their pain leaves them open. I ease the pain. I leave, they forget. That was enough for me. Now they remember, and I’m not sure...” he stops mid sentence, and chuckles softly to himself.

Adaar’s forehead wrinkles. “Cole?”

“I told you about Rhys, the mage who could see me. My friend.” Dorian feels a little jealous that Adaar knows parts of Cole’s story that he does not, but he keeps silent and listens. “My only friend, for a long time,” he continues, and Dorian is pleased when Cole reaches for his hand under the table. Dorian twines their fingers together and squeezes. “Evangeline showed me that even templars could be kind, but even she...” he interrupts himself again, and sighs heavily.

Dorian interrupts, not wanting Cole to force himself to talk about parts of his past so soon after confronting them. “If this is going to be another southern templar story, Cole, perhaps you could wait until we’ve finished this wine. Because this...”

Cole interrupts him right back. “ _Because this is an excellent Ghislain and I do not want it ruined,_ ” Cole mimics Dorian nearly perfectly, causing the whole table to laugh. “Quick words hide a gentle heart. You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t care.”

“I think what he’s trying to say is that if it’s too painful, you don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready, Cole.” Adaar leans his elbows on the table.

Cole looks at him in wonder. “You’re gentle too. You watch me walk into darkness over and over, and you always worry. Thank you.” His head dips, and Dorian can’t see his face under the hat. “This isn’t about that, it’s about...” He stops himself mid sentence yet again, but this time there’s only a breath before he continues. “When I found out I wasn’t human, when I grew, I lost Rhys. I lost my only friend.” He stops again, and squeezes Dorian’s hand tightly. “That’s why I was scared about letting all these people see me.” He lifts his head and looks past their table at the others sitting in the restaurant. “That’s why I laughed.”

“You’re laughing at yourself?” Adaar asks him.

Cole nods, smiling at being understood. “This world taught me that changing means losing your friends.” His grip on Dorian’s hand is punishingly tight, but Dorian doesn’t flinch or complain. He thinks he might understand why Cole needs to hold on. “But now I know that doesn’t have to be true. I have enough self to know that what I felt was foolish. Isn’t it wonderful?!”

“Whatever you say, kid.” Varric replies, and everyone chuckles.

Cole is clearly delighted by their happiness. “I think I might like being human. I wonder what I’ll learn next?”

“To dance,” Dorian replies, smiling when Cole looks confused. “We have a ball to attend, and an Empress to save.”

“Welcome to heroing, kid.” Bull says, pouring Dorian some more wine. “The work is never done.”

***

The next week is a flurry of fittings, teaching Cole to dance, working out with Bull and Krem, and running errands from one end of Skyhold to the other. Adaar is largely absent, in strategy meeting after strategy meeting, though he sometimes steals a moment to visit Dorian’s alcove.

Dorian drops into bed every night, sometimes with Bull, sometimes alone, always exhausted. At his last fitting for the Inquisition uniform, he complains to Josephine. “Must these be so... martial? It’s really not my style, Jo.”

Josephine rolls her eyes at him, used to his antics over the past few weeks. They’ve bonded over the Inquisition’s need for better wine and fashion, mostly. “We must show our strength, Dorian. You look lovely.” She grins impishly at him. “I’m sure the Inquisitor will swoon.”

“Red though?” He makes a face, seeing pools of blood on polished marble flooring in his mind’s eye. The mark of a good party in Tevinter. It had always turned his stomach. Knowing what he knows now, it makes him nauseous.

Josephine must see some of it in his face, because she puts a concerned hand on his arm, where he’s tugging at the hem of the jacket. She drapes a piece of silk over his shoulder. “The sash will be blue,” she cajoles. “To bring out Adaar’s eyes. I know it’s your favorite color.”

“Fine.” He sighs. “The Orlesians will probably find it delicious.”

“Just so,” she smiles. “We have time for a hand of Wicked Grace while we wait for the adjustments, if you’d like?”

“I know bribery when I hear it, Jo.” He lets the tailor peel him out of the uniform. “What is it you want?”

“Just the pleasure of your company while we wait. The fittings have made everyone irritable, and I’m in need of a pleasant interlude.” She holds out her hand to help him step down from the tailor’s pedestal.

“As you wish, Lady Montilyet,” Dorian replies, with a deep, formal bow that makes her blush and giggle. “Shall I put on my robes, or will you be less than scandalised if I attend you in my shirtsleeves?”

“I’m quite sure my virtue is safe with a man of your high character, even in his shirtsleeves.” He gallantly offers her his arm, which she takes as they walk to her desk. Dorian knows she keeps cards, as well as a flask of Ativan spiced brandy strong enough to fell an ogre in a compartment in her top left hand drawer. Their ambassador is only a proper lady at her outmost layer. Dorian wishes he had gotten to know her sooner, as every other layer is a complete delight. “Besides,” she continues, “I’m sure Ser Guillaume will want you to try again when he’s done with the adjustments.”

The tailor simply nods, not looking up from the needle, which moves rapidly over the cloth. Guillaume has been here for weeks and Dorian has never heard him speak so much as a syllable. There’s no denying his talent as a tailor though, so Dorian does as Josephine directs him and stays until Guillaume tugs whatever he’s working on from Dorian and shoos him with a gesture, like a naughty child. Dorian doesn’t complain, since Josephine is usually on hand to keep him entertained with gossip.

“So I hear our errant Warden has something of an infatuation for you, Lady Montilyet,” Dorian grins at her.

To Dorian’s surprise, she sighs. “Blackwall is a gallant man, no matter what name he chooses. Alas, there are too many differences between us in station.” She turns, looking out the window, folding and fanning her cards over and over again. “It must be la splendeur des coeurs perdus.”

The splendor of lost hearts. Dorian has read the term in Orlesian poetry before. A love that can be named and known, but never consummated. “You mean you’re marrying for your family and not yourself.” Dorian stares at his cards. He’ll be losing this hand.

Jo reaches across her desk to stroke his cheek. “It’s not like that for me, Dorian. I promise. My family would not force a match I found odious. And for the right match, they would not care that I loved a woman.” She sighs again. “I just envy you the freedom not to worry, a little.” She turns a vase of flowers, just so, on her desk. “Leliana tells me every week he slips out early in the morning, and hikes to the slopes above Skyhold to find them.” Her smile is small and sad and makes Dorian angry, but he keeps it to himself.

“A token of a love that must remain unspoken,” he replies, quoting from something he half-remembers reading long ago. He had been infatuated with the poetry of unconsummated love once. When he thought it was all he’d ever have.

Josephine smiles, pleased that he understands, and plays a card. Dorian sets his anger aside and endeavours to provide her with the pleasant interlude she had requested. But he tucks the information he’s acquired away, determined to make Jo happy if he can.

***

They ride out to Halamshiral the same way they ride out to the Hinterlands. There’s an extra wagon for their uniforms and gifts for the hosts. Cullen rides with them, Jo and Leliana ride together in the extra wagon. Small differences that don’t change much. Vivienne rides apart from the group in one direction, Solas in another. Cole sometimes rides on Dorian’s horse with him, sometimes in one of the wagons. He’s less afraid of the horses now, but still doesn’t like to ride one on his own. Adaar mostly chats with Leliana on this trip. Dorian can tell he’s worried about the etiquette expected at the Orlesian court. Dorian isn’t worried. Adaar’s kindness will even prompt the harpies at court to forgive him a misstep, and it seems unlikely he’ll make one. Adaar is a very fast learner.Dorian rides with Bull and sometimes Cole. Varric seems to be keeping Blackwall company. Cassandra is scouting the trail ahead. Dorian knows she hates parties. He conspires with Cole to save her a blueberry pastry at lunch. She smiles and ruffle Cole’s hair, sitting next to Dorian to eat.

“So Cole,” she begins, her accent slightly stronger like it always is when she’s trying to start a conversation. Dorian wonders if, deep down, their Seeker is shy. “Varric tells me you are a spirit of compassion.”

“Yes,” Cole replies slowly. “Mostly,” he concludes.

“You are skilled with those daggers, though. How does a spirit of compassion become such a deadly killer?” Dorian winces at the question, because he knows the answer.

Cole goes very still. “Templars,” is his only answer.

Cassandra has the grace to look aghast. “Ah.  ...I am truly, sorry Cole.” Her voice goes quiet, her shoulders slumped. She would take the pain of a boy she never met as a personal failure, their Seeker.

Cole pats her knee. “Don’t be. You and Cullen care. That’s more than most.”

“You’ve forgiven the templar who... killed you?” She asks, tearing off a piece of her pastry and offering it to him.

His face lights up as he takes it, but falls a little bit as he answers. “...I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him, but I can live with him.” He nibbles the pastry absently for a moment or two, contemplating. “Killing him wouldn’t make anything better. It’s more complicated than that.” He leans into Dorian, who puts an arm around him. Slightly more human Cole is more tactile than spirit Cole, Dorian finds. He doesn’t mind. He gets the feeling that the original Cole didn’t receive much in the way of affection.

Cassandra chuckles a bit. “Well, I think that’s the first time I have ever heard you admit that anything is complicated.”

Cole just smiles and snuggles closer. “I don’t understand all of it. I’m trying.”

“As we all are,” Cassandra replies. “And you, Dorian, you’re smiling a great deal these days.”

Dorian waves an indulgent hand. “I always smile. People like my smile, and they should! I have excellent teeth.”

Cassandra isn’t letting it go. “Do you always do it while staring dreamily into the distance?”

Dorian laughs. “Depends on how long until dinner.”

“Sneaking through the Hall, he’s waiting. Waiting until no one can see. He’s not ashamed, not that he should be, but it can’t help if they think he’s tainted, Tevinter, torrid.” Cole interjects. “But it’s not like that anymore. Like he promised. A three legged stool to hold you. Living outside even the Southern rules, but saving the world, so no one cares.”

“Exactly right,” Dorian smiles. Cassandra looks confused, but doesn’t pry. Dorian gives her his pastry, too. He’s had enough sweet for now. And he’s saving room for the food at the Ball. Which will probably be all the more spectacular after nearly a year of Skyhold’s simple fare.

***

The inn they are staying at is quite glorious, but Dorian is still put out. Adaar is spending the night in preparation, and has opted for a separate room. Dorian isn’t alone, he has Bull, but he’s worried about how much Adaar is isolating himself. “We have to do something about him cutting himself off like this,” he complains.

Bull doesn’t answer right away, concentrating on undoing Dorian’s robes. Once the buckles are all open, he replies, “I don’t know. If it were just me and him, I’d handle things differently. But the three of us changes things.”

Dorian bites down on his insecurity. “What would you do, if it were you and him?”

Bull tugs his robes off. “Probably a lot like I do for you.” He smoothes his hands over Dorian’s skin, pushing his smallclothes off his hips. Dorian steps out of them and lets Bull lead him to the tub. The water has been kept hot by an enchantment, and steam rises from it. Bull helps him in. “The Inquisition is a big responsibility. Probably tie him up more. He needs to let go. You need to feel wanted. It’s a little different.”

Dorian slowly sinks into the water, but doesn’t relax. He rests his chin on his knees and wraps his arms around them. “Am I taking up too much of your attention? Because clearly Adaar needs-”

Bull puts a hand over his mouth, gently but forcefully unfolding his limbs and making him lie back in the water. “It’s not like that.” Bull wets a cloth and carefully washes Dorian’s face. He starts to relax in spite of himself. “He needs you. Needs to be what you need.  Needs you to need him. Still not sure how I fit, other than you want me.”

“Need you. I need you.” Dorian loops his fingers around  the straps crossing Bull’s chest and pulls him in for a kiss. “Otherwise I’d be sitting here in this very nice bath worrying all alone.” He kisses Bull again, biting softly at his lower lip. “Take off you pants and get in.”

“It’ll overflow,” Bull demurs, but his pants are already at his ankles.

“They’ll have an enchantment for that,” Dorian tells him as he kicks them off and unbuckles his chest harness.

Bull laughs. “You hope.”  Dorian pulls him into the tub anyway.

There was totally an enchantment for that.

***

The ball isn’t much fun for Dorian, really. They’re introduced to the Empress. The Maréchal announces them, one by one. Adaar stiffens as the fiction they have made of what he tried to build is recited. Vivienne hisses “Remember to smile, you’re supposed to be having fun!” from between her teeth. He gets through it, but Dorian’s heart hurts for him. The fiction that the mages are vanquished and not allies is possibly necessary in the heart of Orlais, where the Chantry still rules, but it clearly costs Adaar to go along with it.

Cassandra cuts the Maréchal off after about what Dorian estimates is a third of an impressive list of names. Dorian actually has an equally long list, but clearly no one in Orlais contacted his family. He’s grateful, really. Solas get introduced as a servant and Dorian rolls his eyes. Sera gets introduced as Lady Mai Bahlsich of Kourse. Dorian bites the inside of his mouth not to laugh.

They mostly scatter after that. He keeps an ear out for interesting gossip, but everyone gives him a wide berth. So wide that even Bull abandons him. “They’ll be so busy avoiding you they won’t even see me. You just stand here and look pretty.” Dorian sighs and pretends to be more tipsy than he is, but Bull is right. He can see Bull standing by the window. Eventually Adaar comes to check in. Dorian doesn’t have much to tell him. “This is all so familiar. I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners.” He leans tipsily on a statue. He may actually be more inebriated than he intended.

Adaar chuckles. “What if you mother were actually here? Where would we be then?”

“Short one mage after he’s dragged out by his earlobe,” Dorian quips. Adaar doesn’t smell like himself. Dorian never thought he’d be unhappy about perfumed oils, but in this moment the comforting scent that is Adaar, dust and leather and clean fighting sweat would be a very welcome thing. He doesn’t belong in this world anymore, and he has no Maker-damned idea what to do about it.

Adaar is blissfully unaware of his personal crisis. “I’m having trouble picturing that,” he smiles.

Dorian smiles charmingly. He’s good at that. “Picture me as a young boy of five years. She certainly always has.”

Adaar picks up that something is wrong. “Missing Tevinter?”

Dorian sighs. “You could almost mistake this for a soirée in the Imperium. The same double dealing, elegant poison, canapés... it’s lacking only a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic.” He forces a smile, “But the night is still young.”

“Okay...” Adaar wants to question him more closely, he can tell. But it’s not safe, at court. “Anything else to report?”

 _It’s quite possible I don’t know who I am any more. I have to go home and I just realize I’d rather have my eyes clawed out by rabid nugs with those disturbing little hands of theirs._ “Have you seen what that marquis is wearing? That suit is a greater crime than anything we’re looking for.”

Adaar laughs. “Don’t wear yourself out mingling. I expect a dance before this is over.”

“Dancing with the evil magister? In full view of every noble in Orlais? How shocking!” Dorian summons up a grin.

“They’ll live.” Adaar quips back.

“You say that now. If you can find me ten silk scarves, I’ve got a dance that will really shock them.” Dorian smirks when Adaar’s gaze in him turns heated. That feels better. He knows it’s superficial.

“Later, in private, you’re going to show me.” Adaar’s voice is pitched too low for anyone but Dorian to hear. It sends a thrill up his spine.

“But of course, Lord Inquisitor. I’ll be ready for your signal. Provided this spicy punch isn’t as strong as it seems.” He takes another drink.

“I appreciate you being willing to come here, Dorian.” He’s gone and worried Adaar. He feels guilty.

“And expose myself to all this exquisite finery and exotic wines? Such hardship.” He waves Adaar off.

“Not everyone is likely to be friendly. That’s all I meant.” Adaar’s questioning is getting more pointed.

Dorian sighs and gives in. “It’s true. You’d think I smelled of cabbages the way they wrinkle their noses.” He says that last loudly enough for everyone in the garden to hear him. “It’s of no concern,” he concludes, more quietly. “But thank you.”

***

The signal does eventually come. There’s not as much fighting as he expected. Sera is deeply angry about the number of dead servants, and it does seem like pointless killing, even for the Venatori. “What fully-qualified arsehole stops to kill a cook?” she demands, disgusted.

“It’s probably the Venatori.” Dorian says. He feels tired and the night has barely started.

She cheers up when they get to fight. Dorian still feels tired. It turns out that the Duchess, Gaspard’s sister is working for Corypheus. It should be intriguing. Dorian’s not really even interested. He wants to be back in Skyhold with a ferocity he hasn’t felt about anywhere but Tevinter before.

Back in the ballroom, Dorian keeps his eyes peeled. Cullen seems to be as ineffective as he is, for the opposite reason. He’s swarmed with courtiers. He looks miserable. Dorian has given the templar a wide berth up to now, but he can do something to alleviate the man’s suffering. He approaches Cullen. “I beg your pardon, Commander. A word?”

Cullen nods gratefully, and Dorian takes his arm as if they are much more intimate than they truly are. The rabble have no way of knowing, after all. He finds and alcove and pulls Cullen into it. He knows what the courtiers will think. Adaar will hear. He’ll deal with that later.  Cullen doesn’t seem to notice. “Thank you. The headache was starting to be preferable to the company.” He rubs and his temples.

“You should dance with me,” Dorian replies, aware that the walls have ears.

“I’m sorry. I-” Cullen stammers.

“Unless of course, you’re worried that the ardor of your suitors will be dimmed if you are tainted by being seen in the company of a mage from Tevinter?” Dorian interrupts.

Cullen didn’t get to be Commander of the Inquisition’s forces by being stupid, regardless of what the rumors about southern Templars were in the Imperium. “I... would be honored to dance with you, Ser Pavus.” He stands and offers Dorian his arm.

Dorian takes it with his most charming smile. “You may call me Dorian, Commander.”

Cullen leads him to the dance. “Cullen, please. I’m grateful for the dance. I didn’t think you cared much for templars.”

Dorian grins. “I make occasional exceptions for the very pretty ones who are in the habit of saving my life.” He pitches his voice below the music as the dance brings them close. “And you looked miserable. I thought you might benefit from the wide berth the courtiers were giving me.”

Cullen smiles. It’s the first genuine one Dorian has seen tonight. “Josie was right about you.”

Dorian can feel his eyes go wide. “Jo never promised to speak kindly of me, but I did think we were friends.”

Cullen laughs. “She speaks very highly of you, in fact. The best Wicked Grace player she’s ever seen.”

Dorian has to chuckle too. “She’s sharp with those cards, don’t let her fool you. I barely get away with my trousers intact.” Cullen is actually a delightful dancer. Dorian makes note of that. He’s not sure why he thinks it might be a key to something about the templar, but he does.

“I prefer chess, but no one at Skyhold seems to play.” Cullen is too well-bred to sigh.

Dorian is not. “I haven’t had a board since I left Minrathous,” he sighs heavily.

“I have one. The pieces are just painted wood, not the carved precious stones you’re likely used to.” Cullen actually looks shy. It’s adorable.

“With the right opponent, I’d play even if you told me the pieces were gnawed bone.” Dorian reassures him.

“Then we definitely should play. I have the most time in the mornings after breakfast, if that suits you.” Cullen bows as the dance ends.

Dorian returns the bow. “As you wish, Cullen.” It feels transgressive to call the man by his name, even though he’s been invited. It makes him smile. “The gazebo in the garden?”

“Sounds love-” The pleasantries are cut short by Adaar striding into the room. He is almost immediately approached by the Grand Duchess. Cullen offers Dorian his arm again. Dorian takes it. “Shall we see what there is to drink?”

Dorian nods his acquiescence. They watch Adaar dance with Florianne and sip a rather pleasant sparkling wine. When the dance ends, Dorian follows Cullen to intercept him. Josephine beats them to it. “You will be the talk of the court for months!” she crows. “We should take you dancing more often.”

Adaar smiles wryly. “I’d happily do more dancing, as long as it’s not with Corypheus.”

Jo smirks back. “I promise not to invite him to your next ball.”

“Next implies there was a first one,” Dorian interjects. “Technically, this ball is Celene’s. And Skyhold doesn’t have a ballroom.” He notes the speculative gleam in Josephine’s eye and amends, “Yet.” She grins at him.

Leliana catches up to them. “Were you dancing with the Grand Duchess Florianne?”

Cullen interrupts. “More importantly, what did you find out about what you found in the servant’s quarters? Is she really working for Corypheus?”

“I hope you have good news,” Jo adds. “It appears the peace talks are crumbling.”

Adaar grimaces. “The intelligence suggests Florianne is behind the plot against Celene, but it was Gaspard’s dagger we found.” He shakes his head. “We need more if were going to make any accusations.”

“Warning Celene is pointless,” Jo sighs. “She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee is to admit defeat.”

“Then perhaps we should let her die,” Leliana says. Every head turns to her.

Adaar is incensed. “I thought we were here to stop the assassination?”

Leliana is implacable. “Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor. What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen.” She folds her arms across her chest. “To foil his plan, the empire must remain strong. This evening, someone must emerge victorious.”

Cullen looks thoughtful. “And it doesn’t need to be Celene. She’s right.”

Josephine is horrified. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting, Leliana?”

Their spymaster remains unmoved. “Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one.”

Dorian feels like there’s information she’s overlooking, though. “Gaspard’s only real skill to hold the throne with is war. Celene’s footing might be shaky, but if you give Gaspard the power, you know exactly what he’ll do with it. If Corypheus wants chaos, it will be much easier for him to get it with Gaspard on the throne.” Jo throws him a grateful smile. He quirks an eyebrow at her in acknowledgement. “We know he doesn’t want Celene to remain in power, at any rate. That should count in her favor.”

“You could speak to Celene in the ballroom, but she can’t act without proof.” Josephine adds.

Cullen nods. “If Gaspard is guilty, he’ll admit nothing. If he’s innocent, he knows nothing. We need the truth.”

“What did Duchess Florianne say to you?” Leliana asks.

“She told me Gaspard’s merc captain is in the royal wing. That he knows about the assassination.” Adaar sighs.

Cullen sighs too. “That’s clearly a trap.”

Adaar chuckles, “Like that’s new.”

Cullen smiles back. “We’ll keep an eye on the ballroom. You should see if you can get into the royal wing and find evidence.” He turns to head back to the party, but stops to take Dorian’s hand, bow deeply  over it and kiss it in the most florid courtly display Dorian has seen since he left Minrathous. “Thank you for the dance, Dorian.” He grins.

Dorian blushes. “You’re quite welcome, Cullen.” Dorian watches as Cullen marches a way, something clipped and military in his step. Jo throws him a look that says there will be questions later and hurries after him, followed by Leliana.

Adaar is staring. “I hadn’t realized you were on a first name basis with the Commander. Should I be worried?”

Dorian laughs. “I have my hands full with you and Bull, thank you very much.” He takes Adaar’s arm as the head to find the others. “We just made passing the time a bit more pleasant for each other is all.” Dorian briefly explains Cullen’s predicament. “It’s his own fault for being so handsome, really. But only the bravest courtiers won’t balk at Tevinter’s taint. His blushing buttcheeks should be safe from marauding courtiers and their pinching, now.”

“Someday, word of how sweet you are is going to get out, and no one will believe in Tevinter taint anymore.” Adaar tells him mildly.

“I will,” Sera interjects, joining them. “Dorian’s all right, but magic’s still rubbish.”

Dorian laughs and kisses her on the cheek. “I’m happy to be the exception. You really should have let me cut your hair, though. It looks like you chopped it with a rusty knife.”

Sera rolls her eyes at him. “Oh excuse me. Sorry I don’t have a pair of diamond coated whatevers.” She punches him in the shoulder, but gently.

“Scissors,” Dorian chuckles. “I believe the word you are looking for is scissors.”

Sera makes a rude noise and turns away to strap on her quiver while they wait for the others.

***

In the end, they find one of Briala’s people, a locket Celene kept from Briala, and just as Florianne promised, Gaspard’s captain. They also find Florianne, who admits openly to both working for Corypheus, and intending to kill Celene. She intends to delay them by leaving them to a rift full of demons and a handful of archers. She clearly has no idea who she's dealing with. Dorian smiles as he throws up barriers and sets demons and Florianne’s lackeys on fire, one after the other. The fight is over quickly, and they arrive back in the ballroom just in time to see Celene give her speech. Adaar lets Cullen know the Duchess is about to make her move, and everyone moves smoothly into place. Dorian had always credited Adaar with how well their military operations worked. Today he has seen a slightly different side of their Commander. He considers the possibility of cheating at chess.

Not that Adaar is unskilled. He approaches Florianne as she and Gaspard stand waiting for the Empress to begin. There are shocked murmurs. Adaar bows. “I believe we owe the court one more show, Your Grace.”

Florianne turns to face him. “Inquisitor?”

“The eyes of every noble in the empire are  on us, You Grace. Do remember to smile.” Adaar comes closer. Florianne backs up. Dorian calls a spell to his fingertips, just in case. “This is your party after all,” Adaar chides her. “You wouldn’t want them to think you’d lost control.”

“Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” the Duchess replies smoothly. Clearly she’s not intending to give up easily.

Adaar is unfazed. “I seem to remember you saying, ‘All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike,’” Dorian almost laughs as Adaar folds his hands behind his back and begins to walk, like his tutors often had when they were lecturing. “When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn’t save me this last dance.” The gasps and alarmed whispers from the crowd grow louder. Dorian sees that Adaar chooses not to mention the rift and demons. Wisely, as the crowd is close enough to panic as it is. “It’s so easy to lose your good graces,” the Inquisitor continues. “You even framed your own brother for the murder of a Council emissary.” The crowd is now shouting, but Adaar somehow manages to be heard over them without seeming to raise his voice at all. “It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds, all your enemies under one roof.” He apparently doesn’t intend to mention Corypheus’s involvement at all. Dorian wonders if that will be good or bad, in the end.

Florianne continues to back away. “This is all very entertaining, but you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?” Dorian looks up just in time to see the look of disgust on Celene’s face. He wonders where it is directed.

He doesn’t have to wonder for long. “That will be a matter for a judge to decide, Cousin,” Celene pronounces.

Florianne turns to her brother in desperation. “...Gaspard? You cannot believe this. You know I would never-” Gaspard cuts her off by the simple expedient of turning his back and walking away. “Gaspard!” she calls again, but the guards take her. She glares at Adaar.

“You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You’re just the last to find out.” He bows formally to her as they take her away. He turns to Celene. “Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak in private, elsewhere.” Celene nods her acquiescence and the two retire to the balcony.

Bull approaches Dorian. “I don’t know about you, but I deserve a drink.”

Dorian smiles. “I believe you do. I’d love to join you, if my being a pariah isn’t too much for you.”

Bull pulls him close and kisses him deeply. Dorian can hear the murmuring around them. He smiles into the kiss and presses closer. “That should keep them busy for long enough for us to get a drink,” Bull smirks down at him.

***

They find Adaar on the balcony a while later. He’s leaning on the balustrade, looking tired and a bit lost. Dorian tries to break the melancholy air that hangs over him. “There was an ancient dowager looking for you. Said she had twelve daughters. I told her you’d left already.” He leans next to Adaar, and Bull flanks the Inquisitor on the other side. He won’t escape them tonight. “You can thank me later, or now.” Dorian bumps their hips together suggestively. “But you look lost in thought. Something on your mind?”

Adaar does conjure up a smile, but it’s a sad, lost looking thing. “I’m just worn out. Tonight has been ...very long.” He turns to Bull. “You okay?”

Bull snorts. “They’re out of cheese dip. I asked them for more but they just gave me this look. The assholes.” Bull leans a hip on the balustrade and strokes Adaar’s back.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “The two of you! You won. You saved the day. Literally, the day is saved.” He stands up so he can gesticulate his frustration. “You should be celebrating! Enjoying yourselves while you can.” They don’t respond, and Dorian sighs, frustrated, and tries another tack. “What you need is a distraction. I have just the thing. Let’s dance.”

“What, all three of us?” Adaar asks.

“”If they’re ungrateful enough to begrudge you dancing with whoever you want after everything you’ve done tonight, Bull is right. They’re arseholes.” Dorian insists.

“He’s right,” Bull rallies. “They’re finally playing stuff with a beat you can dance to. We should dance.” He straightens and pulls Adaar with him. “Besides,” he grins. “They’re out of food.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took approximately half of forever to write. For which I apologize. There is SO MUCH going on at the Ball. I tried not to excise anything important, while still keeping the focus on Dorian. THAT WAS HARD, yo. :D


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is totally unfinished. But there's a good reason, I promise! I'm leaving for Colorado on Tuesday! Things fell into place kind of suddenly, so... I'mma leave this half a chapter here, and y'all can either read it or wait. I'll post the second half probably, sadly a month from now (ish. I'm hoping for sooner.) as a separate chapter so you get a notification. I just wanted to let everyone know I haven't abandoned this fic, things are just crazy. I love, love, love all of you. Thanks for sticking with me!

They’re invited to stay at the palace that night and provided with a whole wing of palatial rooms. Celene is so grateful she even lets them set their own guards. So Dorian is surprised, when he slips away to peek at the bathing arrangements to find the salle de bain occupied.  “Oh! I’m terribly sorry. I thought the baths would be unoccupied,” Dorian starts to back out of the room.

The elven woman laughs at him. She’s beautiful, with cinnamon colored skin and big grey eyes. Her black hair falls in carefully coiffed ringlets to her waist. She’s topless save for a series of necklaces that fall enticingly across her breasts. Her bottoms are smaller than Dorian’s smallclothes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am Taelin. The Empress sent me to attend the baths. You must be Dorian. The Inquisitor’s paramour, no?” She smiles, stepping up and swiftly unbuckling the belt on his uniform before he can stop her. “I was told you would likely be the first to seek out the baths. And that I was to help you prepare for your master.”

She starts to remove his sash and Dorian balks. “I... I can bathe myself. This isn’t necessary.”

The smile drops from her face. “I am sorry to have displeased you,” her shoulders slump and Dorian’s heart clenches. She pauses a moment, and then looks up at him, hopefully. “Perhaps you would prefer a male servant?”

“You haven’t displeased me at all! Taelin, was it?” Dorian waits for her nod. “I just prefer to bathe on my own.” Dorian remembers when he used to be comfortable with servants waiting on him intimately. He wonders when that changed.

Taelin looks conflicted. “I...” she shakes her head, bows and begins to withdraw.

Dorian knows something is wrong. He wants to get back to the others, to the safety of numbers, but Taelin might be in some kind of trouble. Maker knows it’s been that kind of night. “Taelin, wait. What’s wrong?” he asks, before she can step around him and out of the room.

“My mistress will be displeased that I have failed to serve you.” Taelin murmurs, her head bowed.

“Oh, well. Then please, stay. I can attend myself, but you don’t have to leave.” Dorian had been worried that she was intended to seduce him, but he supposes it makes sense for a baths attendant not to wear much in the way of clothing. They hadn’t in Tevinter, either. “I might be a bit embarrassed, but I think I can manage if it will keep you from an undeserved lashing.”

She smiles at him again, clearly relieved. “At least let me send for some wine, Ser.”

Dorian smiles back. “Your favorite. And something you like to eat,” he gestures at the racks, clearly meant for clothing.  “I’ll busy myself over there.”

Taelin steps out the door, presumably to communicate with other servants Dorian hadn’t known were there, and he breathes a long, slow, sigh of relief. He unwraps the sash slowly and hangs it over a hook. There’s blood splattered on it. He shrugs out of the jacket and the undertunic and tosses them on a nearby bench. He kicks his boots off under it and wriggles out of his pants. He thinks Jo made them extra tight on purpose. He skims his smallclothes down to his ankles and kicks them to one side, then rinses himself with a pitcher of warm, soapy water standing near a drain. He steps through the beaded curtain into the bathing area. The air is steamy and fragrant with spices.

The room is warm with the steam, and the bath is actually a pool. Dorian steps down the wide, blue marble stairs into water up to his chest. The walls are lined with benches shaped like waves, which Dorian takes to be an uncomfortable design choice until he turns to lie back. The curves fit precisely under his knees and the small of his back. He leans back, and it’s actually quite comfortable, the water warming the marble and cushioning his weight against the hardness of it. He closes his eyes in sybaritic bliss.

He opens them when a tray clinks softly by his ear. Taelin has returned. She pours a blush wine and uncovers a tray of cheeses and fruits and pastries stuffed with cream. She sits cross-legged at the edge of the pool. She passes him the flute of wine with a considering look. There isn’t a second glass. He hands the flute back to her and grabs the bottle, taking a long drink directly from the neck. It’s very good, chilled, fruity and sweet. It goes straight to his head. Taelin laughs and sips from the flute. “You are a kind man, Dorian,” she observes.

Dorian smiles and peels a grape, offering it to her. As she plucks it delicately from his fingers, he whispers, “You mustn’t tell a soul. They do so enjoy thinking of me as the evil mage from Tevinter.”

She pops the grape into her mouth and presses her fingers to her lips to hold in the giggle. “Briala tells us your Inquisitor helped her. That the Empress will help us now.”

Dorian peels a grape for himself and thinks while he’s chewing. Clearly there is something Taelin wants. He knows an intrigue when he sees one. She hasn’t made much effort to hide it though, and she seems like a nice girl. Dorian decides to hear her out. “Truly, I wasn’t there for the discussion, so I don’t have any secrets to give you, if that’s what you’re fishing for. But if you want my help, you can ask. You don’t have to trade for it. I’ll help if I can.” He raises his empty hands, a gesture of offering.

Taelin studies him as if to surmise his trustworthiness. Dorian gives her the time. He has no reason to rush her either. “You are not at all like the men here.” She presses her fingers to his forehead, like she can feel something through the touch.

“I’m considered strange him my homeland too,” he jokes.

She smiles. “It’s strange for men not to seek my touch. You don’t, yet you allow it. Why?”

Dorian shrugs. “I prefer the company of men, but if it helps you...” he lets the sentence trail off.

For some reason, that seems to make her feel more certain. “I am the Empress’s servant. She has had others. When she tires of us, she send us to her guests. You are not the first guest she has sent me to. She grows tired of me. The others have all left the palace. She gifts them to whomever asks.” She shifts away from Dorian, uncomfortable. “We hear tales. Terrible stories of what happens to those we do not see again. We’re not slaves, as in your country. But those of us who serve the Empress often find they have little recourse. Our lives, those of our families, they can be put in danger.”

Dorian is uncomfortable himself. “You want me to ask for you?”

Taelin shakes her head. “She seeks the favor of the Inquisition. She would see you as little more than a concubine.”

Dorian finally understands. “You want me to ask Adaar to ask.” He smiles. “Of course. It’s likely he’ll even be able to put pressure on her to stop the practice altogether. But I will ask him. You can come with me if you’d like.” He sits up, ready to head back to their rooms.

She laughs at him. “You must finish bathing first! And we have food that must be eaten!” She plucks a pastry from the tray and offers it.

He smiles his thanks and takes it. “You’ll have to eat some of this too. If I try to eat it all myself you’ll have to roll me back to the rooms.”

She giggles and takes a pastry for herself, nibbling. Dorian refills her glass and drinks more from the bottle, washing down the pastry. “Your palace, Skyhold? What is it like there?” she asks, stuffing some berries into another pastry and eating it.

“It’s less a palace and more a stronghold, really,” Dorian muses. “We haven’t time for luxury, much. Though I’m hoping that will change a little once things calm down.” He doesn’t mention Corypheus. He doesn’t know what she knows, and he has noticed that Adaar has foregone discussing the Elder One in public. He follows suit.

“Are the people all as kind as you?” She quirks an eyebrow.

“Well.” Dorian actually has to give that some thought. “Not everyone is kind. But we all stayed because we were hoping to make the world better. I’d say we’re all good people, even when we don’t remember to be nice.” It’s not an unequivocal answer, but it’s a very satisfying one, nonetheless.

Taelin would seem to agree. His response makes her smile, and she goes quiet, nibbling on some berries. After a while, she asks, “What will be my place there? I do not have many skills. I only know the Empress’s wants.”

“You could go home to your family,” Dorian offers. “But there are servants at Skyhold, people who work in the kitchens and couriers and the like. Though nothing so specialized as a bathing attendant. Plenty of people trying out things they’ve never done before, as well. I imagine you could find something you’d enjoy. Our spymaster is always looking for agents,” Dorian muses, “though I have trouble believing you’d go unnoticed anywhere. If you have fighting skills, or wish to get them you might ask Bull about the Chargers.” Dorian nibbles at another pastry. Suddenly he laughs. “I could teach you to be an archivist, though usually it’s somewhat boring.”

“Is that what you are?” Taelin asks. “I didn’t think the Inquisitor would bring the keeper of his books with him to a battle.”

Dorian nods, acknowledging the point. “It’s also a ball, and we’re lovers. But I have some skill at magic as well.”

Taelin laughs. “So being an archivist is boring, unless one happens to be at the right hand of an up and coming power in Thedas?”

Dorian chuckles. “Exactly so. You might find it suits you. You never know what Briala might need in the future. Or some other up and coming power.”

“Perhaps,” she smiles. “We shall have to see if your Inquisitor agrees, first.”

Dorian nods. “He’s a good man. Better than I.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That I must see before I will believe it.” Dorian laughs.

 

They eat most of the tray and Dorian enjoys his soak. He eases his way out of the pool feeling the lassitude in his limbs from the hot water and goes to the large basins on the other side of the room to scrub  and rinse. He startles when Taelin comes up behind him, scrubbing his back. “You don’t need to -” Dorian begins.

Taelin puts her small hand over his big mouth, silencing him. “You are helping me. I will help you this once. Things will be even between us.” She fixes him with a stern look and Dorian nods. She scrubs his back until the skin tingles and Dorian does the same to his face, neck, and chest. Taelin pours cold water over him to rinse and Dorian gasps. She turns him, looks him up and down clinically, and says, “Does your Inquisitor prefer you furred so?” critically, eyeing the area surrounding his cock.

“He’s never complained,” Dorian replies defensively, grabbing a towel from the stack near the basin and covering himself.

Hmph. Taelin makes a sharp sound high in her nose and opens a drawer in the basin stand, handing him a small jar. “Put this in the hair.”

“I, err...” Dorian tries to stall.

Taelin rolls her eyes, takes the jar back and does it herself, tossing the towel aside. Dorian covers his blushing face in both hands. “Trust me. He will like this.”

Dorian peeks at her from between his fingers. “The Iron Bull is going to adore you.” The lotion in his hair tingles, he uncovers his face and peers down at it. “This lotion removes hair?” Taelin answers by the expedient of pouring a pitcher of tepid water over him. The hair rinses away. Dorian is impressed. She hands him another pitcher and he rinses more thoroughly. His cock and balls are now hairless. Taelin steps away for a moment, and when she returns, she has a silk robe. It’s a deep, soft black, embroidered with deep purple birds. You can hardly tell they’re a different color than the robes, until the light hits them just so. They have matching smallclothes, small and sheer like the blue ones Dorian favors, but black. Dorian refuses to wonder where they came from. He slips them on.

Dorian obediently holds out his arms and she helps him into it and hands him a comb for his hair, holding up a mirror for him to fix it in.  She studies it critically and nods when he’s done. Dorian is amused and relieved that it meets with her approval. He adjusts his mustache. She takes the comb and puts it and the mirror back into the drawer. She comes back with a piece of kohl and lines his eyes, taking his face in one hand and adjusting his head according to her needs. She smiles when she’s done. “Your eyes are lovely. The Inquisitor must find them beautiful.”

“Well, you’ve certainly helped with that, I’m sure.” Dorian replies. “I hadn’t thought of myself as needing augmentation before tonight.”

She just shakes her head at him, amused and reaches for the mirror, handing it to him. He looks at himself as she brushes something across his lips with her thumb. He presses his lips together when she directs. It makes them shiny, and slightly darker. His face is all eyes and mouth, now. It looks odd to him, but he might like it. She takes the mirror. “Come,” she orders him. “I will show you the passage to the Inquisitor’s room.”

“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?” he asks as she hands him a basket for his dirty uniform. He dumps it in, waiting for her response.

“... I should return to the servants quarters.” Taelin responds, but she doesn’t sound certain.

“You needn’t. The Inquisitor will want to speak to you before he speaks to the Empress, and we have the whole wing.” He smiles. “I’ll introduce you to Sera. She’s an elf, but she doesn’t care for nobles or anything elfy.” Dorian considers a moment. “Or magic. She’s probably mad, but she’s good people.”

Taelin looks sharply at him. “You care for her,” she states sharply, like an accusation.

Dorian isn’t entirely sure what he said. “She’s a close friend. I don’t have many.”

“Are there any elves you treat as servants?” she asks.

“Well, I’m sure there were a few this evening, but I’ve been trying not to, in general, since I left Tevinter. I’m certain I’ve misstepped more than once. Why?” Dorian wonders.

She smiles. “You’re a little protected from Briala’s intrigues, just by your nature. But all the same, you should be on the lookout. I’ve been useful to her while I was with the queen. She may try to gain access to the Inquisition through me as well.” They make their way through the dim corridor.

Dorian raises his eyebrow at her. “By sending you to befriend me and find you a place in the Inquisition?”

“If I had been in Briala’s employ, she would have provided me with a more nuanced way in than simply asking.” They turn. Grates high in the walls provide little light. Dorian can hear voices.

“I thought as much,” Dorian replies. “Not of Briala specifically, but when you approached me.”

“She may try to find a way to me through my friends. You, Dorian,” Taelin stops, her hand on the wall, looking gravely at him.

Dorian just smiles. “If she thinks to blackmail me, she won’t get very far. You’ll understand when you meet Cole.”

She smiles back. “I hope we remain friends a long time, Dorian.” She pushes the wall and it swings open.

Adaar is sitting between Bull’s knees and Bull is rubbing ointment into his horns. It’s starting to be a familiar sight. “Bull and I were about to come...” Adaar trails off as he catches sight of Dorian. he and Bull both stare with identical, slack-jawed expressions.

Taelin smirks and elbows Dorian. “I told you he would like it.”

Dorian blushes. “This is Taelin.” Dorian forges onward, “She’s been the Empress’s bath attendant, but fears the Empress is tired of her. She’d like you to ask the Empress for her. I’d like you to make it clear that trading her bath attendants away to whoever asks is less than acceptable to the Inquisition.”

Adaar shifts a bit. “Of course. We’ll be speaking with the empress first thing. Will you be joining us in Skyhold, Taelin, or returning to your family?”

Taelin bows. formally. “My family did not survive the purge, Your Worship. If you have room at Skyhold, I would be happy to be of service. Dorian has offered to teach me his skills as an archivist, but I learn swiftly and am a willing worker, Ser.”

“There’s always room at Skyhold,” Adaar chuckles. “Did Dorian tell you he’s a rebellious, heretic archivist, rather than the usual kind?”

Taelin looks wary, surprised by the laughter, uncertain she isn’t the butt of it. “He hadn’t mentioned that, Ser. He implied it was boring work.” She glares at Dorian, who can’t help but chuckle a bit.

“I promised I’d introduce her to Sera, now that you’ve gotten me in trouble,” Dorian isn’t upset, though.

Bull finally speaks up, “I’ll take her. You should stay here.” He stands.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “This is Bull. He’s big, but harmless.” Bull makes a scoffing noise at that.

Taelin looks at him dubiously, “You said he was going to adore me. He doesn’t look like he adores me.”

They all laugh, and Bull offers his arm for Taelin to take. “My apologies m’lady. I would be happy to escort you.”

Dorian waves as they leave, and turns back to Adaar as the door closes behind them. Adaar holds up a hand to stop him. “Bull would not forgive me for undressing you before he got a good look at you.” Adaar’s eyes are wide and round.

Dorian feels hot all over. His blush has climbed clear to his eyebrows. “There’s a bit more of me to see than usual, I think.”

“Oh?” Adaar raises an eyebrow. He’s shirtless and barefoot. He stands, but doesn’t approach, loosening his belt and dropping his trousers to the floor.

“Taelin asked if you liked me furred inferred that you did not, and divested me of a certain amount of hair before I could think to say no.” Dorian is suddenly very aware of the way the silk feels against skin that has never felt it before. He rubs the back of his neck self consciously.

Adaar chuckles. “Bull really will love her.” Bull’s penchant for commanding women is well known. His adoration of Lady Vivienne is probably going to be the basis of one of Varric’s stories someday.

When Dorian looks up, Adaar is looking at him hungrily.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Humiliation in this chapter. It's not something they do to Dorian on purpose, though Adaar does get into it a little bit, after Dorian tells them he likes it. Also this chapter is 100% porn. No plot.

They stare at each other in silence for a few moments. “Open the robe,” Adaar tells him, his gaze not shifting from Dorian’s face. “Don’t take it off, just let it fall open.”

   Dorian does as instructed, feeling heat suffuse his face as Adaar lets his gaze drift down to where the open robe frames his naked cock, trapped under sheer silk. Dorian had been too flustered with Taelin to consider the visual effect before, but it’s quite clear that Adaar likes what he sees. He licks his lips. “You’re hard just from me looking?” His voice is rough, and Dorian can feel his cock twitch as he nods silently. “Touch yourself,” he orders, interrupting as Dorian goes to push his smallclothes out of the way - “No. through the material. Don’t touch those until Bull gets back.”

   Dorian takes an unsteady breath, the knowledge that Adaar and Bull have discussed how much he likes Dorian’s smallclothes adding depth to the blush that he feels certain covers his entire body at this moment. He drags his fingertips up the length of his cock, dragging the silk along his skin, and shivers.

   There’s a wet spot on the silk and Dorian is trembling all over by the time Bull returns, but Adaar seems disinclined to be merciful, watching him silently. Bull joins Adaar on the divan at the end of the bed. “A ball and a show. You’ll spoil me, Boss.” He grins wickedly at Dorian, who can only whimper in response.

   Adaar smiles and leans into Bull, who leans in for a kiss. “I couldn’t wait,” Adaar replies kissing him, “but I made him keep the panties on.”

   Bull makes a hungry sound into the kiss. “If you’re in the mood to watch for a while, I can make that happen.”

   Adaar breaks the kiss to look back at Dorian, his eyes heavy with lust. “Yes,” he replies to Bull simply, his eyes never leaving Dorian’s. Dorian shivers again, the look exploring his body like a physical touch.

   Bull kisses Adaar’s neck softly and then crosses the room, pulling aside a tapestry to reveal a huge mirror beside the bed. The ornate molding and baseboard its frame, it covers the entire wall. Even in Tevinter, Dorian had never seen anything so decadent. “How did you know that was there?” Dorian wonders aloud, stunned.

   “Taelin told me.” Bull grins at him. “She seemed to think it was something we’d enjoy.” He reaches for Dorian, one big hand curling warmly around the back of his neck and pulling him toward the mirror. Adaar moves to the bed behind them and Dorian watches Bull smile at him over his shoulder in the mirror, unable to tear his eyes away. “Make yourself comfortable, Boss,” Bull says, and his voice goes soft with that quality Dorian can’t quite put a finger on. Too warm and soft for lust, too avaricious to be love. “Let me know if there’s something you want to see,” he adds, making Dorian’s stomach flip. Bull turns his attention back to Dorian, tugging the robe so it slides off his shoulder and kissing his way over the freshly bared skin, up Dorian’s neck. Dorian shivers and squirms against Bull, grateful for more contact than his own fingertips had provided.

   Bull wraps an arm around him, pinning his arms against his sides and him against Bull’s wide chest.  He grins at Dorian in the mirror and his fingers dip down, copying the motion Dorian had been making when Bull arrived, stroking his fingertips over Dorian’s cock through the silk. “Taelin told me about this, too,” he chuckles, cupping Dorian through the thin fabric. “Seems to have made you more sensitive.” He sounds smugly satisfied. Dorian can’t find it in himself to be annoyed. Bull’s fingers are bigger, hotter, and more calloused than Dorian’s. He tries to arch into the touch, but Bull holds him pinned to his chest. Dorian whines and Bull nuzzles his neck but doesn’t stop. Dorian’s eyes flutter closed, and Bull’s hand stops. “Nuh-uh-uh, Kadan. Eyes for the Boss, remember?” Dorian forces his eyes open and meets Adaar’s hungry gaze in the mirror. His jacket is over a chair behind him and his starched white shirt is untucked and unbuttoned, leaving the broad expanse of his chest uncovered. Dorian can see the hardness of his cock trapped in the tight confines of the tailored trousers of the Inquisition uniform. He and Bull are both barefoot, but Bull’s shirt is still on, only unbuttoned at the collar. Dorian can feel the starched linen against his back. Dorian squirms and struggles against Bull’s restraining arm until he’s breathless, as Bull’s thick fingers continue to tease his cock mercilessly.  Never enough to break his gaze with Adaar in the mirror, though. Though only Bull is touching him, it feels more depraved than being pinned between the two of them had.

Dorian has an epiphany about restraint, held in Adaar’s eyes with Bull’s arms and by his own desire. It’s huge and inescapable because that’s the way he likes it. Layered and complex bondage of body, mind, and soul. His knees give out and Bull stops stroking him, holds him up until he can regain his feet. “Katoh?” Bull asks, concerned.

Dorian shakes his head. “No.” he replies, and it comes out more vehemently than he intended. “I might need to be off my feet if you intend to continue, though. My legs are somewhat less cooperative.”

Bull smiles and kisses his shoulder again, slowly peeling the silk robe from him, He pulls the belt from the robe and uses it to bind Dorian’s arms behind his back, wrist to elbow, winding the silk cord around the length of his forearms. Dorian stands, flushing under the scrutiny of both his lovers as Bull slowly unbuttons his shirt, letting it puddle on the floor on top of the robe. He sits on the bed, legs spread, on foot on the floor, the other on the bed rail, and draws Dorian close between his knees. A split second before Bull upends Dorian over his lap, Dorian understands what he is about to do. The shock of humiliation hits him like an electric pulse, and he hides his face against the now rumpled bedding. Katoh! Katoh! he thinks wildly, but worse than the humiliation of being bent over Bull’s knee and knowing Adaar will watch him moan and squirm while Bull spanks him like a naughty child is the tingling arousal that accompanies it. There is a hand stroking his hair, and Dorian realizes they are waiting for him to stop hiding his face. The realization comes with another stomach-flipping, cock-hardening rush of humiliation. Dorian wonders how he will live with knowing how much being embarrassed turns him on. He pushes it away - a problem for later. He turns his head toward Adaar, away from the spectacle in the mirror. Adaar keeps stroking his hair.

“Kadan?” he asks, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I just need a moment to adjust,” Dorian replies breathlessly.

Adaar smiles, squeezing the back of his neck possessively and kissing him deeply. When Dorian moans into the kiss Adaar releases him. Knowing what’s expected of him, he turns, taking in the tableau presented in the mirror. Bull’s muscled thigh under his hips tilts them up, presenting his arse perfectly in three-quarter profile, barely covered by a sheer scrap of silk. The dark cord binds his arms in the small of his back.The flush goes from the roots of his hair to the middle of his back. His breathing comes fast and ragged. Too much.

Bull’s hand strokes warmly between his shoulders. “Dorian, if you can’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to say Katoh. What’s wrong, Kadan?”

Dorian almost balks. Another wave of humiliation suffuses him when he thinks about confessing his embarrassment and the effect it has on him. But he flashes on the loneliness ahead, and the consequences of cowardice make him steel himself. Still, he turns back to face Adaar. He can’t look at himself and say this. He swallows, his mouth dry. “Doing this, this way, with Adaar watching... it’s a little embarrassing,” he begins and has to clear his throat before he continues. “The embarrassment is...” he can’t say arousing, “part of the attraction.” His hands clench, behind his back. “The effect was...” breathe in, breathe out, “a bit shocking.”

“We can -” Bull begins, but Dorian shakes his head, interrupting.

“No, Carissmus. Truly.” Dorian breathes, and it comes a little easier. He can trust them. Even with this, this shockingly strong desire to be undignified, undone by them. Debauched. “I want everything you have to give me.” He very deliberately turns his head back toward the mirror, meeting Adaar’s avid gaze, and Bull’s amused one.

Bull reaches down and tugs Dorian’s smallclothes down so they’re just below the cheeks of his ass. He palms one cheek, squeezing and smirking at Dorian in the mirror. Dorian’s breath comes ragged again and he squirms, his legs kicking out involuntarily. Bull pins them with the leg that’s not under Dorian’s hips. Adaar winds a hand into Dorian’s hair, preventing him from turning his face away from the image of his desire. Paradoxically, removing his ability to turn away makes it easier. He can breathe more easily. Bull waits, stroking his skin and palming his cheeks possessively. Eventually Dorian calms. Adaar’s hand gentles in his hair. “Tell us what you want, Kadan. What happens now?” Dorian’s focus snaps to Adaar’s face, which is amused, teasing.

“I... I thought Bull was going to spank me?” Dorian responds, confused.

“Is that what you want?” Bull asks.

Doran understands suddenly, and he blushes, his breath coming faster again. He wants to squirm, but that would be worse. “Yes,” he responds simply, hoping against hope they won’t make him spell it out.

No such luck. “I think you better ask him nicely.” Adaar chides, honing in on exactly what Dorian does and desperately doesn’t want with his usual uncanny accuracy. His hand tightens in Dorian’s hair.

Dorian meets Bull’s reflected gaze and takes a deep stuttering breath. “Will you please spank me so Adaar can watch?” He’s breathless and wonders if every time they’re together there will be a new kind of free fall. His stomach flips.

Bull grins wolfishly. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” and in the next second his hand comes cracking down on Dorian’s cheeks, one after the other.

Dorian looks away, meeting Adaar’s eyes and trying to keep his gaze there, the only escape he can get, but Adaar stops him. “Watch him do what you asked him to do, Kadan.” Given no choice, Dorian watches Bull’s hand crack against the taut skin of his buttocks until they’re bright red and Dorian is nearly sobbing with need, his cock dripping through the silk just barely containing his cock. Instead of pulling them back up to view his handiwork this time, Bull tugs them off impatiently.  Dorian is still following their path across the room when the shock of cool oil on his inflamed skin brings his focus back to the mirror. Adaar is drizzling oil over his arse like honey into tea. Bull rubs it in, slowly moving closer to the center until he’s gently rubbing Dorian’s puckered hole. Dorian squirms, desperate for more, eyes fixed on Bull’s hand until Adaar tugs gently at his hair. His eyes snap to Adaar’s face. “Ask, Kadan.”

Vishante Kaffas. Adaar means to make him abase himself at every step. The realization makes him tremble. Bull’s hand moves, soothing, in the small of his back. “Bull, please... open me up,” Dorian grinds out, and  one of Bull’s thick, calloused fingers obligingly violates him. He gasps and pants as Bull pushes in, struggling against his bonds, but his eyes stay glued to Bull’s hands. Watch him do what you asked him to do. Bull pushes a second oiled digit into him, and Dorian realizes he will likely be watching in the mirror as Bull fucks him. He loses control of his breathing again, and Bull backs off, chuckling.

“Not yet, Kadan.” And coming had been the last thing on his mind until Bull said no. He whimpers. Bull pushes in with three fingers, and Dorian remembers rushing him the first time, and Bull watching Dorian struggle to take his cock and the rush of embarrassment from the memory makes him have to grit his teeth to avoid coming. He squirms as Bull, slowly, unrelentingly fucks him open, panting and moaning. Bull mostly avoids his prostate, and Dorian is grateful.

When he withdraws his fingers, Dorian doesn’t wait to be prompted. “Please fuck me. Please.” He’s begging and he doesn’t even care.

Bull lifts him and gently maneuvers him until he’s kneeling on the floor. Right. Bull is still wearing trousers. Dorian watches as he takes them off, leaving them in a pile with the robe and his shirt. He doesn’t stop Dorian when he nuzzles Bull’s cock, trying to get his mouth around the head. It’s difficult without the use of his hands and he feels like being watched makes him clumsy, but he does it, and Bull’s soft noise of approval makes him hum with pleasure.  He whines when Bull pulls away, but he’s too pleasure drunk to truly complain. Bull sits on the bed and lifts him, turning him back toward the mirror.

Adaar has seen enough, however. He shakes his head at Bull.  “Lie back. I want to touch.” They kiss as they pass Dorian between them. Dorian watches unashamedly. Considering the scrutiny he’s been under, it’s simply fair play. They kiss softly, without being tentative. Dorian likes it. It makes him feel warm. He sighs happily. Adaar’s fingers close on his nipple, the slight, pinching pressure making him squirm. His hand skims down Dorian’s chest, covering as much skin as it can and raising gooseflesh everywhere it goes. It’s a possessive touch, sure of its welcome as it slips below his bellybutton, tracing nonsense patterns on his newly bared skin, making his hips buck. He bites his lips, but a small moan escapes anyway. Adaar cups his bollocks and squeezes just enough to make Dorian moan for real, the ache between his legs all-consuming. His head lolls back on Adaar’s shoulder. He’s not even trying to hold himself up. Adaar does it for him.

Bull pulls him close and Adaar lets him. He lies back and pulls Dorian on top of him. Dorian leans down for a kiss of his own. Bull winds his hand into Dorian’s hair and kisses him hungrily. Adaar moves behind him, dragging his nails over the reddened skin of Dorian’s arse. Dorian moans. Adaar has never struck him, but he seems fascinated by the reddened skin. Dorian has to break the kiss to breathe. Bull just moves his lips to Dorian’s neck, sucking wet kisses all the way down to the collarbone.

Together Adaar and Bull pull him upright, and he can feel the head of Bull’s cock between his cheeks. It’s terrifying, having no control over being penetrated. Their hands lift and position him, and he slides down onto Bull’s cock. A keening noise escapes him. Too much. Too much. But he bites his tongue and pants through the stretch. He hears Bull moan and realizes his eyes are closed. He opens them to see Bull’s head thrown back, off the edge of the bed, leaving the view of Dorian’s naked, debauched body unobstructed. Bull’s cock looks even bigger than it feels. Dorian squirms fitfully, and Adaar wraps his arms around Dorian’s middle and stroke his chest. “Gorgeous,” he murmurs into the spot behind Dorian’s ear. Dorian leans back into the touch. He’s never felt so helpless, desired or cherished. He rocks, taking Bull’s cock a little further with every motion. The roughness of Adaar’s clothes against his skin makes him blush again. Adaar sees and makes a pleased sound, nipping his earlobe with sharp teeth. His hands feel rough on Dorian’s skin. Finally, Dorian has taken Bull’s cock. Bull’s hands cradle his hips, lifting him and pushing him back down in a slow, steady rhythm.

Dorian can hear Adaar undo his trousers behind him, and  then he presses himself against Dorian’s back, his cock nestled between Dorian’s oiled buttcheeks. Dorian moans and cants his hips back, causing Bull’s next thrust to hit his prostate very directly. Dorian’s breath is taken away by the wash of pleasure. Bull moans as Dorian tightens around him, and his thrusts become harder and faster. Adaar’s hands grip his shoulders, forcing him further down onto Bull. Dorian loses track of exactly what is happening after that, given himself over to the pleasure that is consuming him. Adaar’s voice in his ear growls, “Come, now,” and he does, his back arching with the sharp spike of pleasure.

When things become a bit less fuzzy, he is lying on top of Bull still, but Adaar is beside them. Dorian smiles beatifically at him. “That was lovely.” Adaar is chafing his left hand, Bull his right. His back is covered in Adaar’s cooling jism, which should be uncomfortable, but is barely noticeable compared to the sated lassitude of the rest of his body. If they want him clean, they’ll have to clean him. He mumbles something to that effect, but his eyes won’t stay open and he drops off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in Colorado! It's so exciting! Sorry for the wait, and thanks for sticking with me if you did. We're still apartment hunting, so I can't promise speedy update, but I will finish this story. <3


	28. Chapter 28

After a few days back in Skyhold, working with Taelin, and Dorian realizes he’s going to have to come clean. He quite likes having a protege, but it occurs to him that he’s training his replacement. If he waits, it will look more purposeful than it is. He feels nauseous. Dorian gets a note from Vivienne, requesting a volume. Dorian decides to bring it to her himself. The Iron Lady’s brisk wit is just what he needs to clear his head. He takes the volume, and some of the fine paper he picked up in Orlais. It never hurts to beard the dragon bearing gifts. “Good morning, Lady Vivienne,” he greets the enchanter, who is sitting primly on her chaise with a writing board in her lap, like the most terrifying school girl in all Thedas. The thought makes him smile.

“Did you have to go all the way back to Tevinter just to get that book, Dorian? I sent the messenger ages ago.” She doesn’t bother looking up, and Dorian doesn’t bother not to grin. This is exactly what he was looking for.

He places the paper her brought as a gift next to her on the chaise and offers her the book. He doesn’t mention the gift. “Well, there are an awful lot of stairs. We can’t all have legs as long as a dragon’s tail.”

She looks up then. “That wasn’t even remotely a proper insult. Are you feeling yourself today, my dear?” She takes the book and puts it on top of the paper. An acknowledgment of his gift. She must like it. Good.

Dorian makes a show of yawning. “Perhaps if certain Qunari believed in sleep, I’d be more on my game.”

Vivienne studies him critically. “I received a letter the other day, Dorian.”

There must have been something relevant to him in the letter, or she wouldn’t mention it, but Dorian pretends not to care. “Truly? Well, it’s nice to know you have friends,” he replies sardonically.

The corner of her mouth quirks up at that. “It was from an acquaintance in Tevinter. expressing his shock at the disturbing rumors about your relationship with the Inquisitor.” She watches his face avidly.

Dorian can’t keep it from falling, just a little. “Rumors you were only too happy to verify, I assume,” he sighs.

Vivienne scoffs. “I informed him the only disturbing thing in evidence was his penmanship.” She smirks a little.

Dorian is sure he sounds startled. He is. “Oh... Thank you.”

“I am not so quick to judge, darling. See that you give me no reason to feel otherwise.”

That startles a laugh out of Dorian. “I shall endeavor never to be on your bad side, my lady.”

“A worthwhile endeavor indeed.” She turns back to her writing, and Dorian considers himself dismissed. He’s smiling, though.  
***

Taelin is not the only member of Celene’s court that accompanied them back to Skyhold. Dorian knows Vivienne is in a snit today because of the Lady Morrigan, currently tutoring her son in the courtyard. As much sympathy as he has for Vivienne’s vexation, he can’t contain his curiosity. He puts together a tray of tea and small sandwiches and adds some cookies for the boy. He heads to the gazebo with the tray.

Morrigan looks him up and down and sends her son to play. “Ser Pavus,” she purrs. “What would the most popular subject of Skyhold’s gossip want with an apostate witch?”

Dorian just smiles. “I’d thought to offer you welcome, but truthfully I was curious about you. I’m used to being the most interesting person in a room here, but anyone who can make Madame de Fer as angry as she is has to be more interesting than I. She hardly notices me unless she wants a book.” He pours her some tea.

Morrigan smiles smugly to herself as she sniffs at the tea and then takes an appreciative sip. “Madame de Fer is mostly angry that I do not play her precious game. I simply had some knowledge I imagined might benefit Celene and offered it to her. I am not competition for the Lady Vivienne.”

Behind Morrigan, Dorian sees the boy creeping up. He palms a cookie and tucks it behind his back, where he can get it without Morrigan seeing. The child rewards him with a tiny smile and creeps away. Dorian doesn’t see him, but he can feel the tug of tiny hands taking the cookie, and he can’t help but smile. When he looks back from his distraction, Morrigan winks at him. Dorian suppresses a grin and sips his tea. “So why join the Inquisition? The Orlesian court not dangerous enough?”

Morrigan chuckles. “Kieran’s father is... off on a quest of his own, for a time. As these things happen, the world seems to have unraveled in his absence. I’m just doing my part to keep it intact until he returns. With Celene’s safety assured, I’m hoping to use my resources to help your Inquisition defeat Corypheus.” Kieran skips up to his mother, interrupting to whisper something in her ear. She smiles, “You can ask him, but you must finish today’s studies first, little man.”

Kieran flashes Dorian a smile and runs off. “He seems like a fine young man,” Dorian offers. He doesn’t have much experience with children, but Kieran reminds him a bit of himself as a young boy.

“He would appear to have a similarly high opinion of you, Ser Pavus. He wished to know if I would let you read to him. He informs me you have many books.” Morrigan’s eyes do not leave his face on her next sip of tea, and Dorian feels the scrutiny rather keenly.

“I’m not sure I have much that would interest a child, but I’m more than willing to foster an interest in books,” Dorian replies, surprised.

Morrigan’s smile reaches her eyes for the first time in the conversation. “I suspect he is more interested in you than in your books. It’s rare for people to offer him friendship, in spite of the lengths I have gone through to keep my own reputation from affecting him. He’s a strange child, and people seem to feel that even before he speaks.”

Dorian laughs softly. “I seem to attract them. Have you met Cole?”

Morrigan nods. “He seems to be afraid of me, however. Varric tells me he used to be a spirit of compassion?”

Dorian is given pause by her choice of words. “Used to be might not entirely be the case. He’s... a work in progress. Much like the rest of us, I suppose.”

Morrigan smiles again, and it really does change her whole face when she really smiles. She looks softer. More.... human. “You keep interesting company, Ser Pavus.”

“More interesting now, certainly.” Dorian sips his tea, smiling. It’s a lovely day.

Morrigan laughs. “Indeed. Tell me of yourself, Ser Pavus. It is curious indeed that an Altus from Tevinter would come to Orlais to fight his own kind.”

Dorian nods. “I suppose it is. I had... a number of reasons for leaving. The Venatori are only some of them, though they are the reason I am at Skyhold, rather than elsewhere.” Dorian pauses. “Well,” he chuckles, “they were.”

“I had heard of your relationship with the Inquisitor, even at court. Courtiers are so easily scandalized,” she rolls her eyes, and Dorian laughs. “I had thought it was simply rumor when you brought the bath maiden back to Skyhold with you.”

Dorian is a bit flabbergasted by that. His relationship with Adaar and Bull has been so taken for granted at Skyhold, he’d forgotten to consider what outsiders might think. He shakes his head. “In this case, the rumors are true. Adaar, Bull and I are... together. It’s not conventional, but it works for us. Taelin is a friend, and a protege. The Inquisition should have more than one archivist, after all. It’s a matter of prestige,” Dorian says the last smirking, making a joke.

Morrigan surprises him by responding seriously. “It certainly ought to be. My own childhood was rather devoid of literature. I am determined it will be different for my son,” she pauses, chuckling. “Of course, when I ask him to read it’s boring. I am quite pleased that he’s taken to you. Perhaps it will seem less dull.”

“I will do my best to make it as exciting as possible,” Dorian grins. Just then, Cullen arrives in the courtyard with a chessboard under his arm. “I’m afraid I’ve been chatting too long. My morning appointment just arrived. May I take my leave, Lady Morrigan?”

“I could hardly deny you a game of chess, Ser Pavus,” Morrigan grins at him. “Thank you for making Kieran smile.” She makes a shooing motion when he reaches for the dishes. “You did me the kindness of a visit, I can return the dishes. Begone, before being forced to be so pleasant makes me vomit.”

Dorian bows deeply to her. “As you wish, Lady Morrigan,” he replies, and dodges the cookie she throws at him, laughing all the way to where Cullen is setting up the chessboard.

***

Dorian cheats, but Cullen still wins. Adaar joins them, and Dorian leaves them to their game, kissing Adaar on the cheek, in the courtyard for everyone to see as he leaves. He knows he’s blushing and he doesn’t care. He can feel Morrigan’s knowing look and Giselle's disapproving one. He shakes his head at his own boldness as he mounts the stairs to the library. He’s going to have to remember how to behave in Tevinter.

Taelin is already waiting for him and he spends another day teaching her about his books. He has already decided he won’t be taking any of them with him. Indeed, he doesn’t intend to take much beyond a change of clothes. He wants to leave as much of himself at Skyhold as possible. He’s sure Taelin notes his distraction, but she ignores it, simply prompting him when she needs information. They work quietly until lunchtime. Taelin heads downstairs to eat. Dorian shelves the book in his hand and stares out the window sightlessly until Adaar finds him.

“Do you have some time?” Adaar asks, waiting politely outside Dorian’s alcove.

Dorian smiles. “For you, Amatus? Always.” He lets Adaar pull him close.

“I have a gift - well gifts. For you and Bull. He’s waiting for us.” Dorian leans into Adaar and lets himself be led.

Bull’s room has been hurriedly tidied in the moments before they walk through the door, which makes Dorian smile. Bull is lying on the bed naked and reading. He sets the book aside when they come in. Dorian crawls in next to him, and Bull wastes no time in divesting him of his robes and Dorian finds himself sandwiched between Bull and Adaar so quickly he almost doesn’t have time to blink. They kiss him, and then each other, softly. “There we go,” Bull says, hushed and gentle the way he really only ever is with them. “No Inquisition. No war. Nothing outside this room.” He cards his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “So. What’d you want to talk about?”

Before Adaar can answer, the door creaks open and Cullen strides into the room, not looking up from the papers in his hand. “Sorry to disturb your rest, Inquisitor, but our fortif-” Dorian coughs, if only to save the poor man from himself. He finally looks up. “Oh, sweet Maker!” He raises his arm over his eyes, as if to ward off a blow.

Adaar sits up with a soft groan. Bull rolls Dorian to the far side of the bed and raises his knee, which has the dual effect of partially shielding Dorian from prying eyes and ensuring that any attention will be focused on the elephant (or its trunk. Dorian thinks shaking his head at himself for the pun) in the room. He smirks at the commander. “Cullen. How’s it going?” Even Adaar rolls his eyes.

Just then, Josephine follows Cullen into the room. “Is the Inquisitor awake? I thought perhaps we-” she sputters to a very unladylike stop, staring. Adaar just sighs and shakes his head.

“I am s-so sorry,” Cullen stutters, still shielding his eyes.

“I... cannot move my legs.” Josephine replies, and Dorian buries his head in a pillow to stifle the hysterical laughter threatening to bubble up.

Cassandra, seeing the gathering in the doorway, joins them, asking, “Is something the mat- Ah!”

Bull’s head thumps back into the pillows. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groans.

Cassandra turns to Cullen. “Do you see this?” she asks in disbelief.

“No.” Cullen replies emphatically. Poor Josephine remains frozen, her arm still extended to the door.

Cassandra turns back to them. “So, I take it...”

Bull, ever one to find the humor in a situation, laughs. “Actually, he’s been taking it,” he elbows Dorian, who snorts hysterically into the pillow. Cullen snorts too, and instantly looks even more ashamed. Dorian hadn’t thought it possible.

Cassandra pulls herself up, standing straight and apologizing formally. “I apologize for interrupting what I assume was a... momentary diversion?”

“Nothing wrong with having a little bit of fun,” Cullen adds.

Josephine unfreezes long enough to say, “Who wouldn’t be a little curious?” She then freezes again, as she realizes admitting to curiosity. Dorian plans to tease her mercilessly.

It feels like the whole room goes very still, waiting for Adaar to respond. “This was more than a momentary diversion, and Dorian, Bull and I intend to continue.” Dorian can tell he’s irritated by having to answer to them about his personal relationships, but he still feels a warm glow at being acknowledged. He tears up a little. Bull must feel the shift in his mood somehow, because he looks over. Seeing Dorian’s teary eyes, he puts a big, warm hand on his back. “Is that a problem?” Adaar concludes, challenging.

“No!” Cullen answers hurriedly. He’s still shielding his face.

“Not at all!” Josephine chimes in.

Cassandra considers, but she seems to know her disapproval won’t change anything. “It is a surprise. And the Chantry will likely take issue with it. But if we succeed in defeating Corypheus, it’s unlikely their disapproval will mean much. So it will not be a problem.”

Cullen is the first to go. “We’ll leave you be,” he backs shamefacedly from the room.

“Yes,” adds Jo. “Do enjoy yourselves.” Cassandra just quirks an eyebrow at them and turns, striding from the room.

Adaar gets up and closes the door, letting his head thunk back against it. Bill sits up, and Dorian puts his head in Bull’s lap. Bull strokes his hair. “You okay, Boss?” he asks Adaar, a little warily.

Adaar snickers. “I believe we may have blinded poor Cullen.” He collapses onto the bed, planting a kiss just where the slope of Dorian’s back meets his arse, making him shiver. Bull chuckles.

“Not that anyone asked, but I am most decidedly not okay,” Dorian interjects. Bull raises an eyebrow, and he continues. “I don’t recall saying Katoh, but here we’ve stopped anyway,” he pouts. Adaar sits up again laughing, and Bull slaps his ass.

“Since we have a moment,” Adaar starts, pulling something from his pocket, closing his hand around it.

“What’s that?” Bull peers at Adaar’s hand, curiously.

“...I know the custom is to split the dragon’s tooth into two pieces, but there are three of us. So I had it split into three. So no matter how far apart we are, we’ll always be together.”

Dorian just blinks, dumbfounded. Bull actually gets a little choked up. “It’s not often someone surprises me, Kadan.”

Bull usually saves the Qunari endearment for Dorian. “Kadan?” Adaar asks, surprised.

“My heart,” Bull translates unnecessarily, bearing Adaar down onto the bed, kissing him hungrily.

Jealousy eats at Dorian’s heart like acid. The worst part is that he’s done it all to himself. His hand closes around the pendant, a tight fist mirroring the lump of hard pain somewhere in the middle of his chest. Right here, right now, he has everything he ever wanted. Love that acknowledges him, meaningful work, friends. He was an idiot to agree to his father’s terms. Adaar notices his upset when Bull breaks the kiss. “Dorian?” he puts a hand gently over Dorian’s fist.

Dorian looks up. He wants to confess. Tell them everything. Let Adaar rescue him like he’s been doing for the rest of Thedas. But that’s likely exactly what his father expects. He can’t. He can’t let his father’s fear and hatred touch Adaar. He smiles. The dishonesty burns hotter than the jealousy. This would be a good time for one of those knocks he usually hates so much. “You two should take some time together. I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.” He gracefully extricates himself from Bull’s bed and pulls his robes on as he heads for the door. He knows there will be questions about his hasty exit later, but right now, he needs to escape. He heads back to his room. No one will expect to find him there in the middle of the day.


	29. Chapter 29

“No one” apparently doesn’t apply to Sera, who is going through the books in his room, leaving them in disarrayed piles on the floor instead of on the shelves. He sighs. “Sera...” he begins.

She cuts him off. “Those diamond studded haircutting whatevers? Do you know how to use them?”

Dorian blinks. “...Well, I’m not exactly a barber, but yes, a little.”

“Are we the kind of friends who cut each other’s hair?” she asks, apropos of what, Dorian can’t tell.

“I think I’d prefer to keep up with my usual routine, but I could cut yours if you wanted,” Dorian replies, diplomatically.

“You won’t make me look stupid on purpose or anything?” Sera crosses her arms over her chest, regarding him balefully.

“Why would I do that?” Dorian asks, honestly confused. “Especially seeing as you’d probably shoot me, but we’re friends Sera. Why would I do it at all?”

She shrugs, relaxing. “Most of my friends would do it just for the laugh. You’re different, though. Not just because of the magic and being fat with it.”

Fat with it? “Are you referring to...?” Dorian can’t even finish the sentence. He genuinely has no idea.

“You sleep on silk while gold shits down all over you,” She explains, her voice dripping with exaggerated patience. “You’re rich.”

Dorian chuckles. “Actually, I left all that behind me in Tevinter.” He sighs and then chuckles. “I do miss the gold shitting from time to time. Would come in handy.” He unearths his scissors from a drawer and drags a chair near the door. It will be easier to clean the sweepings if he can just sweep them outside.

Sera looks at him, something in her gaze softening. “You really left it?” He just nods, shrugging a  little, and she slings an arm around his neck, pulling him in for a quick, rough hug. “I knew I liked you.”

He ushers her toward the chair, blushing. “So why the sudden interest in a proper haircut?” he asks, redirecting the conversation.

Sera actually blushes in response. Dorian doesn’t think he’s ever seen a reaction like that from her before. “I can’t tell you. You’ll make fun. And... reasons.”

Dorian chuckles. “So there’s a girl.” He puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I won’t make fun. You were nice enough about the Inquisitor, and Bull and I.” He trims the back of her hair, a straight line. He wonders if she’ll let him take his razor to the stray hairs on her neck. She has such lovely hair, shiny and golden like the buttercups Varric named her after. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s... like you. With the big words and the posh manners. But she’s elfy. Usually, I don’t go for elfy. Like a bag of chicken necks, yeah?” Dorian trims carefully around Sera’s ear and lets her talk. “But yes. I like her. She’s... It’s good, yeah?”

Dorian considers. “You’re talking about Taelin, aren’t you? Sera, are you trying to pilfer my protege?” He pretends to sound scandalized, but he isn’t. He’s quite pleased that Taelin won’t be lonely. He feels a painful twist in his chest but ignores it.

“She can still do your bookish things. We can’t be in bed all the time,” Sera cackles, and Dorian laughs with her, cutting her bangs high on her forehead so they won’t fall in her eyes while she’s trying to shoot.

He grabs his towel and hands it to her so she can wipe the stray hair from her neck and face. “I recommend a bath. Those tiny hairs can be powerfully itchy.” He hands her a mirror so she can see what he’s done.

Sera stares for a minute. “You... you made me pretty.” She glares at him accusingly.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “You were always pretty, Sera. Why do you think Varric calls you Buttercup?” He kisses the top of her head and goes to put the scissors away. “I just trimmed the grass a bit so we could see how pretty you are.”

“You talk too much, and words are stupid,” she tosses the mirror onto the bed.

“I’d be insulted if I didn’t know that anything that doesn’t cause chaos counts as stupid for you,” Dorian just smiles at her. “When it starts to grow out, let me know, and I’ll trim it again.” He doesn’t know if he’ll still be here, but if he isn’t he can make sure Varric takes her to someone who will cut her hair properly.

“You’re all right, for a Tevinter,” she tells him.

“I strive to be a credit to my people,” he winks back. “Now go take a bath before you start itching. Here,” he says, handing her his precious bottle of perfumed oil. “Use some of this after you wash. It will make your skin soft, and it smells good.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she looks him over, wary. “You’re sad. Why are you sad?”

“I’m nice to you because we are friends. It’s what friends are supposed to do,” he explains with the same exaggerated patience she had used on him, earlier. “And I suppose I am sad, a little. But I need some time before I’m ready to talk about it.”

She stares at him, and he wonders if he shouldn’t have admitted to his feelings, but finally, she nods. “I get that. But don’t shut everyone out. Tell your Inky or something.”

Dorian laughs. “I’ll be sure to tell him that you reduced his lofty title.” He puts his chair back at his desk.

Sera is looking at him oddly when he turns back. “Dorian, whatever it is... We all have stuff, yeah? The Inquisitor, too. He’ll understand.”

“I promise it will all be fine, Sera.” Dorian lies with a smile. The acid in his stomach rises, and he swallows it back down, his throat burning.

Hmm. Sera hums, disbelieving. “It’s your stuff. I can’t make you. But people care about you. They want to help. Don’t be stupid.” And with that, she leaves.

Dorian sweeps Sera’s hair from his room. He misses Cole, who has been busy learning how to human with Varric for too long.  Dorian curls onto his bed. He has no right to feel sorry for himself, but he can’t help it. How could he have been so stupid?

The knock he had wished for earlier and dreads now finally comes. Dorian answers the door to find Leliana on the other side. She holds out a letter. “This came for you. Why doesn’t the Inquisitor know?”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “If I knew you’d be reading my mail, I might have told him sooner,” he replies acerbically.

Leliana pushes past him into the room and closes the door. “You are leaving him! Don’t you think he has the right to know?” She hisses at him in hushed tones.

“Of course I do!” Dorian hisses back. “I was just waiting for the right time,” he finishes lamely.

“You know the right time is never. He loves you. You leaving will crush him!” Leliana’s disapproval isn’t as terrifying as he’d thought it would be.

“I know,” he tells her, his shoulders slumping. “I backed myself into a corner and there’s no way out.”

“What do you mean? Leliana pushes him into the chair Sera had just been in, more gently than he probably deserves. Dorian wildly wonders if she’s as gentle with the Venatori when she interrogates them. He puts his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“I made a bargain with my father for Krem’s parents, like the letter says.” He sighs. “You read it, when do they arrive?”

Leliana sits on the edge of his bed, her knees an inch from his in his tiny room. He’ll miss it, even in Tevinter. It’s his in a way no other space has been. She unspools the scroll until she gets to the details. “Tomorrow in time for dinner. The carriage is to stay here until you’re ready to leave.” She sighs. “I cannot even be angry with you. It’s a kind and generous thing you did for Krem.” Her mouth quirks. “That makes me very angry with you indeed.”

Dorian chuckles. “Are you going to torture me and throw me in the dungeon then? It would make a fantastic story.”

She slaps his knee. “Do not tempt me, Dorian Pavus. I might even let your father have you.”

Dorian looks up at her, shocked. “You have a plan?”

She tilts her head at him. “I am the spymaster here. Do you think I never considered your father might try again to take you from us?”

“It... it never occurred to me to consider that you would care.” Dorian stammers, utterly shocked.

She rolls her eyes, and begins to count off his virtues on her fingers. “You brought Blackwall back into the group when he would alienate himself. Cole listens to you. You can gentle the Bull. Josie gossips with you. Varric trusts you. Solas talks to you, as does Morrigan. You have connections with the Chargers. Adaar loves you.  Miranda the surgeon thinks you’re a good spirit for all the help you’ve given her. You keep the library. You brought us another archivist. In addition to all of that, you are an expert on the Venatori. Even if I didn’t like you, you are quite valuable to the Inquisition. But I do. You are kind to people I care for.”

Dorian ducks his head and waves it off, embarrassed. “This is the Inquisition. Someone would step up and do the things I do, if I wasn’t here.”

She slaps his knee again. “Stop that. You are important here.”

Dorian bites his tongue. “So what’s the plan?”

Leliana smiles.

***

The letter is true to its word and Krem’s parents arrive the next day. Dorian is with Krem to greet them, but they are understandably tired and much occupied with their son. He shows them to their room and goes to face the music. Bull first. Leliana will keep Adaar occupied so he doesn’t have to tell them both at once. He could find Bull in the tavern, but he opts to wait in Bull’s room. The door is old and the lock doesn’t work, which is how Cullen was able to walk in the other day. Dorian takes the mechanism apart and fiddles with it, finally putting it back together. It will lock now, but the wood is weak. The door probably needs to be replaced.

Bull doesn’t seem surprised to see him when he comes in. Dorian is sitting on the edge of the bed. He can’t make himself look up. Bull kneels on the floor at his feet, tilting his head up with a finger under his chin. “You here to tell me what happened last night?”

Dorian nods without meeting Bull’s eyes. There’s a lump in his throat, and his voice is lost somewhere past it. Bull pushes him back on the bed and curls around him, ignoring the fact that they are both still shod and now their dirty boots are in the bed. “Maraas shokra, Kadan,” Bull murmurs to him, cuddling him close and stroking his hair.

“Easy for you to say,” Dorian finds his voice to snark, and presses his forehead against Bull’s broad chest. “Krem’s parents are here.”

“And this upsets you?” Bull asks, confusion coloring the question.

Dorian laughs until it breaks on a sob. “No. No, I did it. I made it happen.”

Bull’s hand in his hair slows. “And you’re upset because you traded something to make it happen. What did you trade, Kadan?”

“Myself.” Dorian can hear his voice cracking on the word. “I’m to go home for a year once we defeat Corypheus.”

Bulls squeezes him, almost crushingly tight. There’s a tightness in his voice. “Your father is an ass.”

“I know. I knew it when I made the deal. I’m an idiot.” Dorian sighs against Bull’s chest. “Leliana has a plan to get me home sooner, but I don’t know if I should. I should keep my word.”

Bull growls, “You should get your ass back here as fast as you can, because if I have to come get you, there won’t be much of Minrathous left.”

Dorian finds that perversely comforting. “I love you, Carissmus.” It escapes his lips, he never intended to say it, but he feels so relieved once it’s out, a pain he hadn’t realized he was feeling lifts from his chest.

“I love you too, Kadan.” Hearing it takes Dorian’s breath away. He knows Bull was raised in the Qun, that love in the way they’re speaking is not accepted there. He clings tightly to Bull. “You’ll go if you have to, but you come back, or I will come for you. Adaar and I both will. And you know he’s not above using the Inquisition to kick Vint ass.”

“It’s more comforting than you know.” Dorian lets himself rest against Bull’s comforting bulk for just a few moments. “I need to talk to Adaar as well.” He begins to extricate himself from Bull’s bed.

Bull doesn’t let go at first. “If you’re not spending the night with him, you come back here,” and he kisses Dorian, deep and rough and desperate, leaving his lips swollen and tingling. “I want as much of you as I can have before you leave.”

Dorian just nods, not trusting his voice, and goes to find Adaar.

***

The Inquisitor is in his quarters. He meets Leliana in the hall, where she has been waiting, ensuring Adaar would be there when Dorian arrived. She melts out of the shadows, squeezes his shoulder in passing, and disappears silently down the stairs. Dorian steels himself. He taps on the door before opening it. Adaar is at his desk, as usual. He looks up as Dorian enters, and Dorian can see the worry etched on his brow. “I’m sorry,” he blurts.

Adaar comes around the desk and wraps his arms around Dorian. “Are you all right? Was it something I said?”

Dorian shakes his head. “It’s me. I made a terrible mistake. I’m afraid you won’t forgive me.”

Adaar chuckles. “Short of letting Corypheus in the front gate, I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t forgive you for.”

“Krem’s parents are here,” Dorian confesses. “I traded myself to my father for them.”

Adaar’s gasp of surprise is pained, but he doesn’t let go. “When?”

“After Corypheus is defeated.” Dorian swallows. He feels like crying, but he’s not a child, and he doesn’t exactly deserve the release of tears. He’s ruined everything.

Adaar just squeezes him tighter. “Will you come back?”

“If you still want me in a year,” Dorian replies. “Sooner if Leliana’s machinations work.

“I’ll always want you,” Adaar replies, but his reply is distant and Dorian can tell his mind is far away.

“I shouldn’t keep you from your work,” Dorian croaks. He deserves to be held at a distance, but it hurts.

Adaar just nods and lets him go. The pain is consuming. Dorian turns and leaves, holding his breath all the way down to the hall. Adaar does not call him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maraas shokra: There's nothing to struggle against.
> 
> School has started! I'm super busy, but I'm still doing my best to keep working on this. You guys are champs for sticking with me! Thank you!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack! Thanks for being so patient with me! School was a mess and so were the holidays but now I have some free time and I'm going to finish this story, y'all! There's probably about four more chapters if you're keeping count, but don't worry, there's still an epilogue, though that may be a bit as I think maybe I'd like to see what's in the DLC before I write that, and school ran me ragged so I haven't played any of it yet. <3 I love all of you so much, and I hope your winter holiday of choice was amazeballs and that your new year is as well!

* * *

 

Leliana’s intelligence on the red templar’s movements and Morrigan’s insights into Corypheus’s possible goal lead them to an Elven ruin in the Arbor Wilds. There’s already chaos when they arrive. Cullen’s men are still two days march away, and the local lord’s men and Leliana’s scouts are battling the Templars in small, tight knots all over the forest. Adaar just looks at them, and they fight their way through the forest as best they can. The ruins are exactly where Morrigan had said they’d be. Corypheus wants something here called an “Eluvian” whatever that is. Varric had looked sick when Morrigan explained it, but no one else had reacted. Dorian spares a glance for him, jumping out of the way of an attack and firing an arrow simultaneously. There hadn’t been time to ask. He dances out of the path of a charging red monstrosity. He wishes he knew. Very little rattles the dwarf. He’d like to be prepared. He’s not sure he could ever have been for the fight at the gate. Corypheus and Samson are there.

“They still think to fight us, Master,” Samson sneers. Corypheus advances on a small group of what Dorian takes to be temple guardians attempting to hold a line just beyond the gate. Corypheus picks one of them up, crushing him in one monstrous hand and tosses him at the feet of the rest.

“These are but remnants. They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.” Dorian had thought they were looking for a mirror, not a well.

“Well of Sorrows?” Adaar turns to Morrigan, his brow wrinkling, but even the witch looks perplexed.

“Be honored,” Corypheus intones. “Witness death at the hands of your new god.” Dorian would roll his eyes at how ridiculous Corypheus is, but he keeps advancing toward the bridge that is the only way further into the temple, and frankly, it’s terrifying to think he might succeed. He pauses when the pillars on either side of the bridge begin to glow, but ignores them and continues to push forward. The defenses take a moment to power up fully, but then Corypheus explodes, his sundered pieces slowly burning to ash. The explosion takes out some of the Templars, and all of the temple guardians at the gate. Adaar looks stunned, and Dorian can’t blame him. Surely it can’t be this easy. Samson seems unconcerned, though, taking the few remaining Templars and moving past the destruction into the temple. They are about to follow when one of the bodies, a Grey Warden Dorian doesn’t recognize, starts to bend and twist unnaturally. Corypheus’s unmistakably hunched form tears itself from the screaming templar.

“It can’t be!” Morrigan exclaims.

But it is. Adaar pushes Dorian toward the bridge. “Across the bridge, NOW!” he yells, running after Dorian, and they follow Samson into the temple.

Dorian knows Bull stayed behind in the forest with Blackwall, Sera, Cole and his Chargers and is glad. The old elven magic makes the hair on the back of even Dorian’s neck stand up. Bull wouldn’t like this place. A cold, shivery feeling travels down his spine. “At last, Mythal’s Sanctum,” Morrigan sighs as they step through the gate. “Let us proceed before Corypheus intervenes.”

Dorian is torn between agreeing, if only to get out of this place, and wondering what her hurry is. Cassandra has no such battle and no filter. “You said Corypheus wanted an Eluvian, but he mentioned a Well of Sorrows. Which is right?” she demands.

Morrigan looks uncertain, and Dorian can tell she’s not pleased to have to admit to a lack of knowledge. “I.. am uncertain of what he referred to,” she replies, haltingly.

“You’re not certain?” Adaar asks, tense. Dorian would reach out to comfort him, but now isn’t the time. And Adaar might not want his comfort. They haven’t really spoken since his plans to leave came to light. “I thought you knew what he wanted.”

“Confidence can carry one only so far, it seems,’ Solas mocks. Dorian rolls his eyes. Even he knows this is a bad time to be sarcastic. Adaar just rolls his shoulders; a move meant to settle the tension rather than shrug it off.

“I suspected,” Morrigan enunciates through her anger. “I did not know.” Adaar just looks at her. “Yes! I was wrong!” Morrigan gives in to her exasperation, throwing up her hands. “Does that please you? Whatever the Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus seeks it, and thus you must keep it from his grasp.”

Adaar nods, turning toward the path that leads further into the temple, studying it as if the dangers would make themselves apparent under his stare. He sighs and squares his shoulders. “Let’s find this well before Corypheus’s people do.” He sets off, and they trail behind him. “We need to know how Corypheus came back to life. We saw him die.”

Morrigan looks relieved. Apparently she knows the answer to this one. “And his life force passes on to any Blighted creature, darkspawn or Grey Warden.”

Varric chuckles darkly. “So that’s how the bastard survived Hawke.”

“We’ll have to find a way around that once we’re done here.” Adaar looks tired, in a bone-deep way Dorian wonders if he’ll ever recover from.

“‘Tis strange,” Morrigan muses. “Archdemons possess the same ability, but still the Grey Wardens are able to slay them. Yet Corypheus they locked away. Perhaps they knew he was able to do this, but not how.” There are stairs to the next level, littered with the bodies of most of the rest of Samson’s templars. “I see the red templars have encountered the temple’s guardians,” Morrigan says in passing. No one replies. They have all seen enough death.

There doesn’t seem to be a way further into the temple at first. They wander from door to door, but they are all locked. Then they come to a statue tucked into a corner. It’s a wolf. The plaque resting against his side informs them that it represents Fen’harel, the rebel god. Morrigan looks surprised. “Why would this be here?”

Adaar seems to agree. “My father told me once that the Dread Wolf tricked the other gods into sealing themselves away in the beyond. Why would his statue be in Mythal’s temple?”

“Setting Fen’harel in Mythal’s greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste naked in the chantry,” Morrigan replies. Dorian watches Solas turn away from the group, studiously not looking at the statue or contributing to the conversation. It’s definitely odd, but Dorian doesn’t say anything.

“Sometimes the elves put statues of the Dread Wolf outside the camp to keep bad spirits away,” muses Adaar, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Perhaps. I would have thought the ancient elves above quaint superstition,” Morrigan replies.

Solas turns back to the group, clearly irritated by the conversation. “For all your ‘knowledge’ Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history.” He sniffs, moving toward a gap in the wall Dorian hadn’t seen before. “The wise do not mistake one for the other.”

Morrigan, obviously angry not to have found the gap herself, responds acidly. “Pray tell, what meaning does our elven ‘expert’ sense lurking behind this?”

Solas sighs. “Nothing can be discerned by staring at a lump of stone. Perhaps another plaque can be found further on.”

“The two of you argue much more, and Varric will make you kiss in one of his stories,” Adaar replies drily. The dwarf in question laughs, and the sardonic response puts an end to the argument. They move on, only to find another sealed door.

“Corypheus’s lackeys managed to open it.” Morrigan remarks. “Perhaps the altar will hold a clue.” She inclines her head toward an impressive edifice in the center of the open area they find themselves in.

The stone under their feet lights up as they approach. “It would appear the temple’s magics are still strong,” Morrigan notes as they explore.

“Ancient Elven,” Adaar remarks. “I can’t read this. Never had the time to learn.”

“Atish'all Vir Abelasan,” Solas informs them. “Enter they way of the Well of Sorrows.”

Morrigan shoots him a filthy look. “There’s something about knowledge,” she scans the plaque, picking out the words she knows. “Respectful and pure. Sheven.... shevennen,” she sighs. “‘Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the well is a good omen.”

Adaar looks to Solas, hoping for more, but he just shrugs. “At least we know the Well was important,” he replies, resigned.

“Supplicants to Mythal would first have paid obeisance here,” Morrigan muses. “Perhaps following their path would aid entry.” Dorian is inclined to agree. Appeasing the spirits here seems like a could idea. He still has a cold, crawling feeling at the base of his spine. Like being watched.

Solas reluctantly agrees with Morrigan. “Only the reverent were permitted to walk this ground.”

Cassandra and Varric seem inclined to disagree, citing the need to end the conflict and not waste the lives of the outnumbered soldiers still fighting in the wilds. Dorian can see their point, but the crawling dread he feels will not be swayed. Fortunately, Adaar seems to agree. “Perhaps the spirits here will see fit to help us if we behave respectfully toward them,” he decides.

The petitioner’s path is a simple puzzle, and Dorian lets himself feel delight that the ancient stones still light up under their feet. If he’s going to die today, it will be as himself, not some dour shadow. Solas catches the quirk of his smile. He doesn’t smile back, but Dorian thinks his eyes might twinkle a bit. They make their way into the temple, allowed in by the doors that had previously been impassable to them. They are met by elves. The temple guardians are actual, ancient elves. Dorian’s mouth hangs open, and Solas taps him under the chin to shut it, and this time Dorian is sure about the twinkle. Their leader, Abelas, agrees to help them fight off the templars. Adaar mentions the defeat of Arlathan by the Tevinter and Abelas shakes his head. “The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. The Elvhen warred amongst themselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over.” Dorian is completely floored by this knowledge but files it away to consider later. There are more pressing matters to attend to at this moment. “The Vir’Abelasan must be preserved.”

“What is this Vir’Abelasan, exactly?” Adaar asks.

“It is a path,” Abelas replies. “One walked only by those who toiled in Mythal’s favor.”

“He speaks of priests, perhaps?” Morrigan comments.

Abelas is suspicious of her. “More than that, you need not know,” is his only response.

Adaar again looks to Solas, who has clearly had enough. “What shall I say, Inquisitor? Shall I sway him from millennia of service by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to what remains of his world, lacking the power to restore it.”

“When this is done,” Abelas says, without acknowledging that they’re essentially discussing him as if he weren’t there, “you shall be permitted to depart, never to return.”

“This is our goal, is it not?” Solas pleads, knowing the destruction Adaar can wield when he has a mission in mind. “There is no reason to fight these sentinels.”

Morrigan clearly disagrees. “Consider carefully,” she admonishes. “You must defeat Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the well for your own.”

Dorian steps closer to Solas in silent support. There’s no need to take from these elves the last of what they have. If Corypheus continues to be a threat, they can ask again later, at which time having honored their previous alliance can only reflect well on them. It’s both the right thing to do, and a politically astute move. Fortunately, Adaar isn’t as hungry for power as Morrigan would have him be. “I accept your offer,” he replies simply.

Abelas nods. “You will be guided to those you seek.” He gestures towards guardians who are pushing open the huge doors to a part of the temple they haven’t seen yet. “As for the Vir’Abelasan, it shall not be despoiled. Even if I must destroy it myself.”

Morrigan screams “No!” as he turns away from them, her scream transforming as her body does, from human to bird as she flies after him. Their guides simply wait, and after a moment of indecision, Adaar goes to them.

“Handy to have guides, anyway,” Varric says.

“Especially since Morrigan chased off on her own,” Adaar replies, not even trying to avoid sounding bitter.

Uncharacteristically, Solas defends her. “She seeks to defend the Well of Sorrows.” Dorian steals a glance at him as they follow their guide deeper into the temple. He looks sad but resolute. Dorian wonders what he’s thinking, but they stumble on some Templars before he can work up the courage to ask.

The ancient elves move like shadows. Fight like them too, their movements quick and fluid. They find Samson in a courtyard within sight of the Well of Sorrows. Adaar has a rune that disables his armor. Dorian hadn’t known, some things Adaar plays very close to his vest, but he suspects the little Dwarven artificer, Dagna. He puts her on his list of people not to cross. The fighting is shorter, and less bloody than Dorian had anticipated.The guardians had taken care of most of the Templars. “It’s over, Samson,” Adaar tells him as he lies, panting at the Inquisitor’s feet. “Surrender.”

“Corypheus chose me twice,” Samson replies as if they hadn’t just fought. “First as his general, then as the Vessel for the Well of Sorrows.” He doesn’t try to get up. “Do you know what’s inside the Well?” he asks, his voice going quiet and reverent. “Wisdom. The kind of Wisdom that can scour a world.” He coughs, a rough, wet sound. “If I had given it to Corypheus, he could have walked into the Fade without your precious Anchor.”

Adaar takes a knee, offering his canteen. “What do you get out of it. What’s a Vessel?”

Samson closes his eyes and turns his head away. “What else empties a Well? One more task entrusted to me. Would have made being force fed Chantry lyrium good for something. Until you broke the armor, it made me a living fortress. Body and mind. I wouldn’t have forgotten a word of the Well’s knowledge. Corypheus would have been unstoppable.”

Adaar looks said. “If he had become that powerful, you and your soldiers would just have slowed him down.”

Samson just closes his eyes. The truth of the Inquisitor’s statement clearly pains him. Two of Leliana’s spies come to take him away. To Skyhold, for judgement, provided he lives that long without the armor’s power.

 

Just then, Abelas appears, creating stairs to the Well, trying to outrun Morrigan’s crow form. Adaar calls after him, but he won’t be swayed from his course, he runs to the well, and they follow.

Morrigan returns to human form with her feet in the water of the Well, and Adaar stops alongside her and Abelas, his hands outstretched, trying to forestall any fighting. “You heard his parting words, Inquisitor. The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows!” Morrigan insists before Abelas can speak.

Abelas turns to Adaar, his shoulders falling. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last.”

“You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance,” Morrigan accuses.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers! Better it be lost than bestowed on the undeserving!” Abelas rejoins. Dorian can see Adaar close his eyes. Gathering strength perhaps.

“Fool!” Morrigan spits, disgusted. “You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows!”

Adaar opens his eyes. “Corypheus needed Samson to use the well. Without him, there’s no Vessel to claim it.”

“The moment we leave, he will send more troops to secure this place.” Dorian has to admit that’s a good point, and even Abelas seems to realize the truth of the statement, his posture softening, the lines around his eyes deepening. “The well clearly offers power, Inquisitor. If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you truly afford not to use it?”

Adaar wavers. Abelas shakes his head. “Do you even know what you ask?” He turns away from them, looking deep into the waters of the Well. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on. Through this,” he motions toward the water, and it responds, moving with him. “All that we were. All that we knew. It would be lost forever.” He turns toward Adaar, not pleading, but resigned.

Adaar sighs. “Is it truly better if that knowledge is destroyed with the Well, never to be passed on?”

Dorian is surprised when Solas agrees. “There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

He thinks he sees recognition in Abelas’s eyes when he answers, but that couldn’t be. “Elvhen such as you?” Abelas seems to consider. Dorian is sure they’re talking about something he doesn’t understand. Abelas had been very dismissive of the elves earlier.

If there’s something going on, Solas doesn’t acknowledge it. “Yes, such as I.”

Abelas turns back to Adaar. “You have shown respect to Mythal,” he takes a deep breath. “And there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny. Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’abelasan, as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

Adaar pauses. “Gifts like this don’t come freely.”

“No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost,” Abelas replies simply. He turns his back on the well, walking away. He stops without turning. “The Vir’abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. Brave it if you must, but know this: You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound? To a goddess that no longer exists, if she ever did?” Morrigan scoffs, causing Adaar to close his eyes again.

“Bound,” Abelas enunciates, turning back toward them, “as we are bound. The choice is yours.”

“Is it possible this Mythal might still exist?” Adaar asks.

Abelas shrugs. “Anything is possible”

“Elven legend states that Mythal was tricked by Fen’Harel and banished to the beyond,” Morrigan tosses back, and Dorian remembers Solas warning her about myth and history, but Morrigan clearly didn’t take that lesson in.

Abelas doesn’t roll his eyes like Solas would. “‘Elven’ legend is wrong,” he rejoins, his disdain for the stories modern Elves tell very clear. “The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder.”

“Murder? I said nothing of -”

Abelas interrupts. “She was slain. If a god can truly be. Betrayed by those who destroyed this temple.” He sighs heavily. “Yet the Vir’abelasan remains. As do we. That is something.”

Dorian speaks up. “Are you leaving the temple?”

Abelas’s gaze feels heavy when it lands on Dorian. “Our duty ends. Why remain?”

Solas responds before Dorian can think of what to say. “There is a place for you, Lethallin, if you seek it.” Dorian feels like he’s not talking about Skyhold, but what else could it be?

Abelas pauses. “Perhaps there are places the shemlen have not yet touched.” He shrugs. It may be that only Uthenera awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken.” Dorian is fairly sure Abelas is explaining for his benefit, so he nods, even though he already knew that. “If fate is kind,” Abelas concludes, and Dorian can see how tired he is.

“You can walk away from the temple, just like that?” Adaar asks.

Abelas looks at the water again. “After you drink, nothing remains to hold us.”

Solas says something in Elvish that Dorian doesn’t understand. It sounds very formal, but nothing else in Solas’s behavior is formal. He speaks as though Abelas were a dear friend suffering a loss. Dorian supposes he is. Abelas doesn’t reply, just turns back toward the stairs and walks away.

Morrigan turns back to the well, and the mirror that stands behind it. “You’ll note the intact Eluvian. I was correct on that count, at least.”

Adaar considers it. “Is it still a threat? Can Corypheus still use it to enter the Fade?”

“Each Eluvian requires a key. Without the Well, this one will close,” Morrigan replies, trailing her fingers in the water. “I did not expect the Well to feel so... hungry,” she muses.

Adaar’s eyebrows climb nearly to his horns. “Seems like that should be a concern.”

Morrigan shrugs, concentrating. “Knowledge begets a hunger for more.” She turns to Adaar. “I am willing to pay the price the Well demands. I am also the best suited to use its knowledge in your service.”

“Or more likely, to your own ends,” Solas interjects. Dorian is confused, considering how he defended her earlier.

“What would you know of my ‘ends,’ elf?” Morrigan replies, acid dripping from every syllable.

“You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast! You cannot be trusted!” Solas flings back. Adaar pinches the bridge of his nose. Dorian gently lays a hand on his arm and is gratified when he leans minutely into it.

Morrigan notices his distress and modifies her tone when she speaks again. “Of those present, I alone have the training to make use of this. Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

Adaar turns to Solas. “What about you?”

“No, do not ask me again,” Solas replies sternly. Adaar and Dorian exchange a confused look.

“You lead the Inquisition,” Morrigan says before Adaar can consider it. “This isn’t a risk you should take.” Dorian has to admit the truth in that statement, too.

“I would prefer you remained in one piece,” he offers.

“You’re not concerned about the price?” Adaar asks her. “‘Bound forever to the will of Mythal?”

“Bound to the will of a dead god?” Morrigan scoffs. “Seems an empty warning.” Dorian winces, but no lightning appears in the cloudless sky to strike them down. Perhaps Morrigan is right. “Perhaps a compulsion remains. Who can say otherwise? I do not fear it, even so.”

Adaar looks at her. “Be sure you want this, Morrigan. We can’t know what will happen.”

“We do not. And yet, it must be done. I am ready.” Morrigan remains resolute.

“If it is truly between you and her, let her take the risk, Inquisitor,” Cassandra supplies. “Maker help us all.”

Varric shrugs. “This is a lot of weird. Don’t ask me.”

Adaar looks at the water. At the Anchor on his hand. Dorian knows he’s weighing the risks. He looks at Morrigan. “Drink, then. It’s yours.”

Morrigan turns to the Well, takes a few steps in, and without looking back, immerses herself in the water. The power of the well is explosive, the water splashing over all of them in a wave. When they’ve blinked the drops from their eyes, Morrigan is unconscious in the now-empty well.


	31. Chapter 31

Dorian runs to her, but before he’s quite all the way there, she’s sitting up. She babbles in what Dorian assumes is Elvish. He looks to Solas and Adaar, who shrug almost in unison. It’s the ancient tongue then. She shakes her head, trying to clear it and Dorian bends to help he to her feet. She seems unsteady but is not injured. “I am intact,” she assures him, squeezing his arm in appreciation of the support he’s offering. She looks around as if seeing the area around them for the first time. “There is much to sift through, but now we can...” She trails off as magic begins to curl around their feet. Everyone but Dorian and Morrigan draws a weapon. Dorian gets ready to run with her if necessary. They see Corypheus enter on the balcony above them. 

“The Eluvian!” Adaar shouts, and he and Morrigan turn toward it, already running, Morrigan pushing her magic toward it to get it to open even as they run. They can hear Corypheus roar in anger behind them as they run. They have to make it through the mirror. They have to... Dorian doesn’t know what happens behind them, but when they all appear in a room he’s never been in before in Skyhold, it also holds a mirror like the one in the temple. It turns black, cracking. Morrigan sighs. “Well. That is inconvenient.”

“Right now, I’m more worried about you, my Lady,” Dorian tells her. “You need a healer and some rest.”

Morrigan makes a face but doesn’t deny it. Adaar squeezes Dorian’s shoulder. “We’ll meet in the war room after the healers have seen Lady Morrigan, and then she can rest. I’m sorry my Lady, we need your insight and a plan before Corypheus has recovered enough to make another move.”

Morrigan nods. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

Dorian stays with Morrigan while she endures the healers. She does her best to be gracious, but she’s clearly both in pain and exhausted. Dorian takes her arm without mentioning it when they are done, and the corner of her mouth turn up. Not quite a smile, but it’s enough. “Your manners are impeccable, Ser Pavus,” she remarks as they slowly make their way up the stairs to the hall and the through Josephine’s office to the war room.

Dorian smirks. “When I want them to be.”

Morrigan chuckles. “I think I might come to regret encouraging Kieran’s interest in you.”

He pretends to be shocked by the accusation. “My lady! As if I would ever encourage a child to mischief!”

“And the foul-smelling leaves I found in my shoes, it was not you who taught Kieran of that particular property of rashvine nettle?” she asks archly.

Dorian tries to look chagrined, but the grin that emerges is impossible to hide. “But he read an entire treatise on the rashvine family of plants to extract the information,” Dorian informs her with an impish grin.

“So he mentioned when I confronted him. He’s not much given to mischief, usually. I was... pleased, that he found an outlet for his newfound knowledge that was much as any other child would. Thank you.” Morrigan is watching where she puts her feet and does not meet Dorian’s gaze, but he can feel the sincerity of her gratitude.

“Being different than other children isn’t always bad,” Dorian says, remembering his own childhood. 

Morrigan smiles. “Perhaps he and I both needed to be reminded. That is why I am grateful.”

Dorian smiles back though Morrigan still isn’t looking. “It’s no trouble. Keeping the Inquisition’s books can be a lonely business sometimes. Kieran and Taelin keep me from falling into my own navel.”

Morrigan doesn’t respond, but she does lean a little deeper into him, companionably, for the rest of the slow walk to the war room.

*** 

Dorian honestly doesn’t pay much attention to planning stages. There’s a lot of arguing about what Corypheus will or won’t do. Morrigan’s voices seem to know the most, and Dorian has nothing to input. He hopes that Adaar will ask him to stay behind, but he doesn’t. Dorian stops at the wine cellar before going back to his room, finds that the maximum number of wine bottles he can carry back to his room is six. He pauses, replaces one of them with a spicy Antivan whiskey in case he’s not drunk enough after the first five bottles, and heads to his room.

He’s drunk enough to stumble on the way to his door when there’s a knock a few hours later. It’s Cole, which is surprising because he’s never knocked before. Dorian can only remember him using the door once or twice. Usually, he just pops out of the ether. Dorian feels a pang at how human he’s become. “You don’t like it when I use the door?” he asks instead of telling Dorian why he’s come, which is comforting in a weird way.

Dorian shrugs with one shoulder, propping himself against the door with the other. “It’s just different,” he replies, trying not to weave on his feet. It shouldn’t be this difficult, seeing as he’s leaning. He must be more inebriated than he thought. No matter. The goal is to be drunk enough to stop hurting. 

“I felt you,” Cole states, apropos of apparently nothing. “I don’t feel things so much anymore, but I felt you.” Cole shifts awkwardly instead of reaching out. “You’re hurting. Will you let me help?” Dorian thought he’d been doing better getting obliterated. Clearly he was wrong.

“I’m sorry Cole,” Dorian sighs, apologizing both for disturbing him and the next part of his statement. “I’m not sure it’s something that can be fixed.”

Cole does reach out then, still looking uncertain, but Dorian lets himself be drawn into an embrace. Cole feels taller and Dorian wonders if that’s real or just that his perception has changed. Cole feels  _ different _ . Heavier, more solid, more something Dorian can’t quite put his finger on. More  _ human _ . Dorian has mixed feelings about it. Cole gasps as Dorian relaxes. “You’re leaving. Leaving Skyhold.” The hurt in his voice cuts Dorian to the quick.

“I don’t want to,” is the only answer he can manage. He forces himself to look at Cole.

Cole’s face is angry, but not at Dorian. “Your father is an arsehole.”

Dorian can’t help the startled laugh that escapes him. “Yes, indeed he is.”

Cole’s face crumbles. “...If I had stayed a spirit, I could have gone with you. You wouldn’t have had to be alone.”

Dorian shakes his head emphatically. It makes the room spin, and he stumbles. Cole lifts him and bodily carries him to the bed. He’s much stronger than he used to be, physically. Dorian drags the boy in beside him, wrapping them both in blankets over their clothes. “If you were still a spirit, you wouldn’t be safe in Tevinter. If I can’t protect myself, even with half of Thedas between myself and it, I couldn’t protect you. And I would never,  _ never _ forgive myself,” he’s aware he’s slurring drunkenly, but it needs to be said, in case Cole gets any ideas. His father will not touch Cole. Or Varric, or Krem and his family, or Bull, or Adaar. Even if Dorian must let himself be broken. None of it matters as long as his friends -  his  _ family _ , his real, loving family is safe. They are worth anything.

He doesn’t manage to say any of that out loud, but he suspects Cole feels it anyway because he wraps his arms around Dorian. Though they’re warm and the room is dark, they remain silently awake for a long time before sleep claims Dorian.

***

Cole is gone in the morning when he awakes, and Dorian tries not to feel bereft. He fails miserably and opts to drink his breakfast in his room instead of facing the world. Taking stock, he finds that there’s only a little in the second bottle of wine, so he finishes it off before opening the third.He finishes the third bottle while reading a treatise on fade-touched wounds. He writes a note to himself reminding him to make sure Miranda gets a copy, in case they see any in the battle with Corypheus, which seems likely. He opens the fourth bottle and the brandy. Chasing slugs of brandy with glasses of wine makes his stomach hurt, but after a third or so of the brandy is gone, he stops feeling it. He’s cold, so he wraps himself in his blankets. They’re too tight around him for him to sit back down in his chair, so he lets himself tumble onto the floor instead. The floor is cold. He hates it. He kicks it. It feels a little like he kicked off into weightlessness. The room spins around him. He closes his eyes against the vertigo.

When he wakes, Bull is upside down, leaning over him and patting his face. “Dorian! Wake up!” he bellows, followed by a string of Qunlat cursing that Dorian is only sort of capable of understanding. The shouting makes his head hurt, though, and he slaps at Bull to make him stop.

“My mother wasn’t a cow,” Dorian says, but it comes out as more of a mumble than an acid retort. Also, his mouth tastes like a nug died in it. Possibly after using it as a toilet. “Water?” he asks, trying to sound less pathetic than he feels. Watching Bull stand up brings back the vertigo, and Dorian’s stomach turns. “Why were you upside down?” he croaks.

“Why are you lying on the floor?” Bull shoots back, rinsing Dorian’s wine glass and refilling it with water.

Dorian struggles to a sitting position. “M’not.” Bull rolls his eyes and gives him the glass, sitting next to him on the floor. Dorian drinks.

“Going to drink your way through the next year?” He doesn’t look at Dorian, instead reaching for the pitcher of water to refill Dorian’s glass.

“Maybe,” Dorian replies. “Unless someone comes up with a better plan.”

Bull rubs the back of Dorian’s neck. “Thought you and Leliana were working on that?”

“My father could choose to make a fuss. Start a war between Tevinter and the Inquisition.” Dorian sighs. “We even brought Josephine in. Our Josie is very smart, but the best she could come up with was for Adaar and me to marry under Chantry law. My father might risk enforcing a divorce, but it wouldn’t be the Inquisition’s fault if Adaar fought it.”

“So why aren’t we doing that?” Bull wants to know.

“Because Adaar hasn’t asked, and won’t because there are three of us,” Dorian explains like Bull is an idiot because he is if he thinks Dorian will give him up.

“So?” Bull says like marriage isn’t a big deal. Dorian feels a little dizzy just contemplating it. Like standing with his toes curled over the edge of a cliff.

“So the Chantry would never allow it, even if men marrying men in threes became all the rage in Orlais. He’s the Inquisitor. I am from Tevinter.” He sighs. It’s actually less terrifying when he remembers exactly how impossible it is.

Bull rolls his eyes. “Since when does the Chantry have any say in what we do here? You don’t have to marry both of us, just Adaar, he’s the one with the power.”

Dorian leans into him. “Stop being practical. It’s not actually helpful. We’re not getting married, especially not without you. Adaar can’t marry me because of who I am, and I don’t want to pick. The more powerful the Inquisition becomes, the more we need opinion to be on our side. The Chantry, the courtiers, the teyrns, the Empress. It’s why we go to ridiculous balls and have a constant parade of nobility trudging through Skyhold and calling it ‘rustic.’”

Bull pulls Dorian into his lap, tangle of blankets and all. “I’m sorry. I really don’t want to lose you. Even temporarily.” He wraps his arms around Dorian and holds on. Dorian lets himself melt into Bull’s arms.

There’s a knock on the door, not the crisp rhythm that the messengers use, but a short thump, thump. “Varric,” Bull murmurs, giving Dorian the option of ignoring it. He doesn’t.

“We’re getting together to play a few hands of Wicked Grace before we kick Corypheus’s crusty ass,” Varric informs them, not mentioning that Dorian is naked except for his blankets. “It’s not optional. The Inquisitor needs to remember he’s a person, and we’re gonna help. All of us.”

Dorian snorts. “As if I’d turn down a game, whatever the reason. I need to put on clothes, so shut the door behind you.” Varric rolls his eyes and leaves.

Dorian untangles himself from the blankets. “I don’t remember getting undressed,” he muses, looking for a clean set of smallclothes. He bends to open a drawer, and rolls his eyes when Bull chuckles. “Stop staring at my backside and help me get dressed.”

Bull laughs and gets up, pulling a blue set of robes from where they hang behind the open doors of his armoire. “Forget the panties. I’d just take them off you later anyway.” He holds the robes open so Dorian can step into them.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked me in blue,” Dorian prods him, stepping into the robes.

“Reminds me of those panties of yours,” Bull grins back, turning him and doing up the closures. “And it makes your skin look nice. Almost like one of those statues, the ones in Minrathous, with the walkway and the trees?”

“The Bronzed Court? I suppose that’s a compliment,” Dorian muses. He’d always been a little afraid of them. When he was small, he’d taken the name literally, and had terrible dreams about still-living skeletons trapped under the metal. But thinking back, they were quite lovely.

Bull snorts. “I’d compare you to a sunset, but you’d tell me it was cliche.”

Dorian doesn’t bother to explain. “Because it is,” he kisses Bull and slides his feet into his boots. “Come on, Jo won’t wait for us. We want to get there before she talks Cullen into betting his pants.” He grins, willing to pretend for a while that everything is fine, and the world isn’t going to end.


	32. Chapter 32

They play in the Hall. It’s empty except for the Inquisitor’s companions, sitting around a table. Dorian assumes the lack of courtiers is Varric’s doing. Sera is clearly already in her cups, sitting nearly upside-down in her chair, her legs slung over the back. Dorian smiles at her, and she waves back. Blackwall is, of course, sitting at the furthest end of the table from Josephine, pretending he isn’t hanging on her every word. Fortunately, he is between two empty chairs. Dorian makes good use of the opening. “Blackwall, would you mind terribly pulling up another chair? I’d prefer not to be separated from either Bull or the Inquisitor tonight,” he plies the erstwhile Grey Warden by refilling his tankard from a jug on the table.

“The better to help them cheat at cards,” he grumbles, but gets up and goes to another table to steal a chair.

Dorian gives Varric a look, and by the time he returns, the only empty space is next to Josephine, who blushes, but doesn’t object.

“Looks like I’m going to need to go fetch our fearless leader,” Varric announces, heading toward the stairs to Adaar’s quarters.

“Tell him to hurry or everyone but Cole and Josephine will be too drunk to play,” Dorian says, sipping his wine to punctuate his point. Varric just rolls his eyes. 

Cullen comes from the War Room a few moments later and stands awkwardly. “You seem to have enough people. I have a thousand things to do.”

Dorian pats the chair next to him while Bull gets up to get another. “Losing money can be both relaxing and habit-forming. Give it a try.”

Varric returns with Adaar in tow. “Besides, Curly if any man in history ever needed a hobby, it’s you,” he chuckles. “Look who else finally showed up! Deal us in, Ruffles,” he tells Josephine, making her laugh.  Bull puts a chair down between himself and Dorian and motions for Adaar to sit. 

When they’re all settled, Josephine deals. “I hope I remember the rules,” she says to no one in particular. “It’s been ages since I played a game of Wicked Grace.” Dorian covers his smirk with his wine glass. It’s a ruse, and he knows it. He lost a dozen silver to her not two nights ago. Varric coughs to cover his laugh. He knows.

The night winds on. Cullen tells funny stories about his days as a templar. Josephine tells some about the court. Adaar tells some about his merc crew. Cole talks to the face cards. Sera drinks herself under the table and falls asleep there. Dorian feels warm when Adaar rests his arm across the back of the chair. He leans into it, and Adaar rubs his thumb slowly back and forth across the nape of his neck. Dorian loses that hand and the next three. Cullen loses his pants to Josephine the hand after that, and the night is over. Dorian has a moment where it feels like his stomach has dropped through the floor, wondering if Adaar will walk away. But he doesn’t get up when everyone else leaves. Bull catches his eye and shakes his head minutely, so Dorian doesn’t get up either. Soon, everyone has said their goodnights, and the three of them are alone in the dim, empty hall. 

Adaar closes his hand on the back of Dorian’s neck, and Dorian just lets his eyes drift closed. He hears Bull chuckle as if from far away, but then he’s being lifted, and when he opens his eyes he’s in Bull’s arms, and they’re heading towards Adaar’s quarters. Dorian reaches out, and Adaar takes his hand and kisses the back. Dorian smiles, truly relaxing for the first time since he told Adaar he was leaving. Whatever happens, he will have this.

The morning comes much too soon for Dorian’s taste. Everyone gathers in the Hall to discuss where to find Corypheus. The war room is too cramped, and the kitchen staff scurry to clear breakfast from the tables as maps are unrolled and messengers dart around them. Everyone has a theory where Corypheus might have gone and what he’s up to. Dorian hasn’t any applicable information. If Corypheus tries to return to Tevinter, he has contacts that will send him word, but in Orlais he has none. He’s not willing to stray too far from Adaar and Bull, though, so he listens to the buzz around him with mild interest, watching Josie coordinate information for Cassandra and Cullen, who mark possible troop movements on the map. 

It’s one of the rare clear days in Skyhold, the sun shining brightly down on the polished stones, so the change in the light isn’t immediately noticeable. The hair on the back of Dorian’s neck stands on end, and he looks up to see Solas step toward the window, mouth open in horror.

“Solas?” Dorian gets up, about to ask what’s wrong but he can see when he gets to the window. The sunlight has turned a sickly shade of green, shining through a brand new breach, right where they had closed the last one. Not like the smaller rifts, it throws off arc after arc of power. Dorian shivers, the power making all his hair stand on end now. He turns to get Adaar’s attention, but the room has gone silent already, everyone crowding the windows. No one speaks for what feels like an eternity. Then Adaar straightens his shoulders, reaching for his staff and tossing Dorian his.

“Time to go,” he says simply, his voice resonant in the silence.

“Inquisitor, we have no forces to send with you. Most have not yet returned from the Arbor Wilds,” Cullen interrupts.

Adaar just nods. He’s clearly already thought of that. “Just as Corypheus expects, I suppose. But if that breach isn’t closed it will swallow the world.”

“That’s madness! Won’t that kill him as well?” Josephine sputters angrily. Dorian wonders if she’d be less angry if Corypheus had cleared his schedule with her first and smiles to himself. He’ll miss her.

Adaar smiles too and puts an arm around her. “We’re not going to let him,” Then he turns and strides out of the hall, Dorian and Bull, Solas, Morrigan, Sera, Vivienne and Cole trailing behind. Blackwall is likely still in the barn. Cullen and Cassandra are waiting at the gate when they’re saddled up. Bull hands Cassandra the reins to her horse. The Temple of Sacred Ashes is just over an hour away if they ride hard.

And they do. There’s a permanent camp just before they reach the ruins, and there is chaos when they arrive. Either the breach or Corypheus is lifting the building, and pieces of the foundation are raining to the ground, flattening tents. Sera’s horse rears, and Dorian has a moment where he thinks his heart will stop, but Sera just flips in the air and lands, like a cat, on her feet. Dorian dismounts and goes to check on her. “Impressive,” he tells her.

“Always,” she winks. She grabs her bag of potions and Dorian grabs his staff. Solas and Vivienne put up barriers, and they make their way forward into the ruins. There are minor demons scrabbling around. Dorian, Adaar, Sera, and Varric keep them at bay from a distance. They find Scout Harding struggling to get out from under a tent, pinned by a large boulder. Fortunately, it’s only the tent that’s pinned. Cole cuts her free with his knives. 

“Fall back,” Adaar tells her. “Make a rallying point out of the way of falling debris. Supplies will be coming shortly.” Harding doesn’t bother trying to answer over the howling wind, just salutes and runs.

They press forward, into the ruins. Solas looks troubled by something far away instead of the debris swirling around them. There are stairs, and Vivienne drops her barrier as they climb. Solas’s stays up, and Dorian wonders, not for the first time, exactly how powerful the elf might be. He often seems inexhaustible. He looks around and considers that what is troubling Solas might be how deserted the area is. There are none of the demons that had fallen from every other rift in the ruins. Something is keeping them from falling through the Breach. If that something is Corypheus, he might seek to overwhelm them by releasing all the demons at an opportune moment. Still, there’s nothing to be done but be vigilant.

Corypheus is seated on some rubble in what Dorian thinks might have been a courtyard once. He’d only ever seen the Temple of Sacred Ashes in books before he came to the south, and then it was ruins. As the world will be if he doesn’t focus. Adaar steps forward, and Corypheus sneers. “Tell me, where is your Maker now?” Adaar doesn’t bother to answer. Dorian realizes he has no idea if Adaar ever came to believe. “Call Him,” Corypheus taunts. “Call down his wrath upon me.” He pretends to look around. “You cannot,” he claims, after a pause for effect, “for he does not exist. I am Corypheus. I shall deliver you from this lie in which you linger.” Dorian rolls his eyes. Only a rank amateur would make such a ridiculous boast. “Bow before your new god and be-” a bolt of magic from Adaar’s staff hits Corypheus in the face, shattering the red lyrium growing from his cheek. Dorian feels the magister’s barrier go up before he sees it because he’s too busy laughing. Adaar has just enough time to grin at him before they’re blasted by a wave fire and Corypheus screaming “As you wish!”

The fire just washes over Solas’s barrier, but the battle has begun in earnest. The ground is smoking, and Dorian can hardly see. He was right about Corypheus holding the demons back, but there aren’t enough to overwhelm them. He stumbles, but Bull is there to steady him. The courtyard is moving higher. Corypheus is separating them from possible reinforcements. Dorian laughs softly. It’s wasted energy. There are no reinforcements. He thinks of how angry his father will be if he dies fighting Corypheus instead of coming home to clear the Pavus name. It’s a deeply satisfying thought, and he hurries after Bull, setting demons on fire, so they’re too distracted to fight back as Bull cuts them in half.

It’s easier to corner Corypheus than Dorian would have thought, but the magister seems unphased. He’s still sneering. “You’ve been quite successful at foiling my plans thus far, but let us not forget what you are,” he looks Adaar up and down dismissively as he speaks. “A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat.” 

Adaar doesn’t look worried. He smiles. “Ah, but by your own estimation, an extremely successful gnat. Losing sleep over me buzzing in your ear? That’s not very godlike.”

Dorian can see Corypheus’s fists clench, but the rage barely shows on his face, so immobilized by the red lyrium eating away at it. “We shall prove once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood,” Corypheus seethes.

Maker help them all, Adaar laughs. Literally laughs in the face of death. Dorian will never love him more than at this moment, but he also kind of wants to murder him. “What exactly are you proving by talking?” He twirls his staff, leaning into the wind that is still howling around them. 

Corypheus’s pet dragon chooses that moment to climb over the rubble. Dorian has a split second to feel satisfied at such an epic death that is clearly upon them when another dragon barrels out of the sky, knocking them both off their little floating courtyard with a harrowing screech. Adaar is still smiling. Dorian is sure he’s standing like a fool with his mouth open. The other dragon must be Morrigan. He wonders if that was something she could always do, or if she learned it from the well. 

And then he remembers. If the dragon dies, Corypheus is vulnerable. He puts a fire sigil under Corypheus’s feet, but the magister teleports away before it explodes. Corypheus continues to prattle about how they’re all going to die, but Dorian isn’t paying attention to anything but setting him on fire. 

Morrigan drives the other dragon to the ground at their feet, and they switch targets. It’s Blackwall who lands the killing blow, severing the beast’s head from its neck. A ball of energy shoots toward Corypheus, and they all turn to challenge him. “NO!” he screams. “I WILL NOT HAVE IT!” Energy arcs from the orb in his hands to the Breach, and it widens.

“The fucking Breach is getting bigger!” Sera yells. Dorian can’t tell if she’s more angry or scared, but she sends three arrows flaming toward Corypheus.

“So it is,” Adaar replies, much more calmly than Dorian feels is appropriate to their situation. “Kill him before he destroys the Fade.”

They bombard Corypheus until he stumbles. He turns and plucks the orb from the air like he was plucking the apple from a tree. Solas hands Dorian a lyrium potion and Dorian downs it quickly, shooting the elf a grateful smile. ”Not like this,” Corypheus croons to the orb. “I have walked the halls of the Golden City, traveled across the ages...” It’s at this moment that Dorian realizes - they’re going to win. He’s so conflicted he tunes out the rest of Corypheus’s prayer.

Adaar’s hand glows brighter as Corypheus beseeches whatever he thinks the orb is connected to, and the orb flies from his hand to Adaar’s. Corypheus falls to his knees. Adaar looks at the orb in surprise for a moment, and then channels the energy from his hand, through the orb, and into the Breach. It closes. Adaar drops the orb to the ground and approaches Corypheus, his hand glowing brighter than Dorian has ever seen. “You wanted into the Fade?” Adaar asks, putting the hand on Corypheus’s head, like a benediction. The magister screams, and is no more.

It’s over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to wrap this up. I'd like to thank anyone still reading for their patience.


	33. Chapter 33

They stay in the camp Harding set up in their absence. Cullen had sent along what few soldiers had felt capable of continuing on from the Arbor Wilds with the supplies. Dorian sees the Chargers among the soldiers carrying crates of supplies and setting up tents. There’s a smattering of applause as they come into sight. Dorian gives a small but gracious bow, Bull smiles and waves, but they’re too exhausted for much celebration. Varric actually stumbles a little on some uneven ground. Even Cole is quiet. Fortunately, Harding has had the soldiers working, and the Inquisitor’s tent and several others are already up, and there’s a fire going. Dorian grabs wine from among the supplies and crawls into Adaar’s tent, fully intending to drink himself to sleep. He’s finished half the bottle when Bull comes in with a tankard of hot wine and a bottle of Antivan brandy. Dorian manages a smile when Bull sets the mulled wine in front of him. “You _do_ love me, Carissmus,” he croons, wrapping his hands around the warm container. There’s probably rain coming. It’s chilly in the shadow of the ruins.

  
Bull smiles at him. “Yeah,” his response is simple. He strokes Dorian’s hair, and Dorian lets him because he can’t imagine it’s not already a fright.  
Instead of drinking, Dorian leans into Bull’s side and closes his eyes. “I was hoping not to come out of this one. Typical Venatori trash, pretending to more power than he had.” He wonders how long he can put off leaving for Tevinter. He lets go of the tankard and reaches for Bull.

  
Bull bodily lifts Dorian from the chair and steals it like the thoughtless oaf he is. Dorian’s flash of irritation is short lived, though. Bull settles Dorian on his lap and tucks Dorian’s head - frightful hair and all - under his chin. His arms are big and warm, and Dorian relaxes into the embrace. “Rest. You’re still here with us.”  
That reminds him. “Where’s Adaar?” he asks gently. Adaar’s official duties have been a source of tension. He’s needed to be available at a moment’s notice for a long time, and though they know the soldiers who have been fighting and marching for weeks need their leader, his absence hurts.

  
“He’s doing his fearless leader thing. We were worried when you left without saying anything. Sent me to see you,” Bull tucks his chin and kisses the top of Dorian’s head.

  
“He’s avoiding me?” Dorian can’t help but ask.

  
Bull shakes his head. “He doesn’t want you to leave, but he can’t say that when he’s the Inquisitor.” Bull sighs, helps Dorian to his feet, and grabs the bucket of water left by the door. He wets a cloth, and pulling Dorian to him, washes his face. The fire from the dragons had covered them all in soot. Bull must have washed his face before he came to look for Dorian, but there’s still some soot streaked across his bare chest. Dorian can see the lines the straps of his armor left behind. He lets Bull maneuver him, peeling him out of his dirty, soot-streaked robes and gently washing him. The water and the cool air chill him, and he shivers a little, but he doesn’t try to stop Bull. If he’s under Bull’s control, he doesn’t have to think about going home. It sounds wrong. Home is Skyhold, not Tevinter. The thought nearly takes his breath away. His heart aches in his chest, almost sharply except that it doesn’t stop. Dorian takes a breath, shallow and short, the pain in his chest too restricting, and takes the cloth from Bull, rinsing it and washing his broad, scarred chest. Bull wets his fingers and combs them through Dorian’s hair. “It’s not easy for him. He needs to be the hero, so everything doesn’t fall apart. He needs the mages and templars to stay peaceful. He needs the nobles not to decide to stop listening now that the danger is gone,” Bulls keeps stroking wet fingers through his hair until it’s more than damp, slicked back against his scalp. It’s cold, but it feels cleaner, and that feels better. “He feels torn between who he needs to be for them and himself. When he’s not the Inquisitor, he needs you so much it’s distracting. Enough that it would be easy for him to make a bad choice. He knows how bad it would be to start a war with Tevinter over you. And he could. But he needs to be better than that,” he kisses Dorian’s temple, letting him go to kick off his boots and ridiculous tent pants.

  
Dorian rinses the cloth again and cleans Bull’s back. “So he’s avoiding me, but it’s for the best,” he chuckles, but the sound is bitter in his mouth.

  
Bull turns and takes the cloth from him, tossing it toward the bucket. “Because you’re bad for his self-control, Kadan.” Bull moves them to the soft pile of bedding they sleep on in camp. He lays on his back and pulls Dorian on top of him, flipping the blankets over both of them, and leaving room for Adaar. Dorian glares at the empty space. He wonders if his chest will hurt for the whole time he’s in Tevinter. He can’t sleep, but he lies still, not wanting to disturb Bull.

  
Adaar eventually comes in, stripping out of his clothes silently. He pauses when he feels Dorian’s eyes on him. Dorian wonders if he’s considering leaving. Instead, he gathers up the clothes Dorian and Bull had left in piles on the floor, bundles them and places them carefully outside the tent. Bull murmurs something to his Tama in his sleep, and Dorian strokes his arm, barely able to breathe, but Adaar closes the flap and comes back. He takes Dorian’s hand when he lies down next to them, twining their fingers together, and staring at their clasped hands like he’s afraid to meet Dorian’s eyes. Dorian squeezes his hand, and Adaar finally looks at him. His eyes are deep pools. They used to be a deep red-brown, like the Iron Springs back home, the water tinted with the metal from the rock under the spring. The lines in his iris are green now, like the Anchor. Dorian wonders, not for the first time, if the encroaching magic is dangerous. Maybe now that the Breach is closed and the orb broken... He sighs.

  
Adaar kisses the back of his hand. They lie silently. The romantic in Dorian wants to say they are communicating with only a look, but he fears that the truth is that there’s nothing left to say. Their time together is coming to a close. Adaar’s eyes eventually drift closed, his grip on Dorian’s hand loosening. Dorian still can’t sleep, and doesn’t let go.

  
***

  
Dorian can hear the mild shift in the noise of camp that signals dawn. He climbs slowly out of bed, careful not to disturb his... his. He stands, looking down at the two sleeping forms and decides not to finish that sentence. He throws on clean pants that someone had kindly remembered to include with the supplies. He can’t find a shirt, so he pulls on one of Adaar’s. It’s too big, but he ties it in a knot at his hips and decides to go with it. It smells of Adaar, more so as it warms against his skin. He goes outside to take care of his necessities. On the way back he sees Krem, laying on the ground, his heart clenches, and he’s about to run over, but then he sees something drop from the tree above him. He opens his mouth and catches it. Dorian looks up to find Scout Harding sitting halfway up the tree on a sturdy branch, carving pieces off an apple with the small knife Dorian knows her well enough to know is never far from her person. She’s laughing and dropping the pieces to Krem. Dorian wonders if Lissa is going to have some competition for his friend’s affections. He smiles and heads back to camp, making a note to tease Krem later.

  
Cole is perched on the side of one of the supply wagons when he gets back to camp. Dorian smiles, but Cole doesn’t smile back, just keeps looking at Dorian. Dorian reaches up to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mellitus. I promise to write. And to come back as soon as I can.”

  
Cole nods, but still doesn’t speak. He lowers his head so his hat covers his face. Dorian sighs. He wonders if this is the mistake he’ll regret most when he finally dies. He can’t regret coming to the South, but leaving is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He lets his hands drift down Cole’s arm to his hand, and squeezes it again before heading to the fire. Varric is already there, writing notes in what looks like a journal.

  
“Don’t look like you slept much, Sparkler,” Varric says, leaving the statement hanging.

  
Dorian knows he can turn it into a joke and Varric will let him. He hasn’t the strength this morning, so he just nods and goes to find a mug for tea.The near boiling liquid makes the metal cups they use at camps hot. Dorian wraps his hands around it anyway, letting the slight pain distract him from the deeper pain still clenching in his chest. Varric watches him surreptitiously but waits for Dorian to speak. He doesn’t, so they sit in expectant silence until some soldiers join them. Dorian can breathe a little more as they greet Varric, laughing with him as he makes jokes. He keeps them distracted from Dorian, and he’s grateful. He finishes his tea and goes to help with the packing up.

  
Miranda, the surgeon, is loading a wagon with her supplies. She smiles when she sees him. “I thought there’d be more need than there was, for once,” she crows. “I’m so glad you were all relatively unhurt.”

  
Dorian can’t think of a thing to say, so he just smiles wanly.

  
Miranda turns sharp eyes on him. “You _are_  unhurt, aren’t you?” Dorian almost laughs at how threatening she can make that. His smile becomes a little more real. She glares at him. “Dorian Pavus! If you’re hiding an injury I’ll make sure it heals just in time for me to murder you!”

  
Dorian can’t help but chuckle sadly at that. He’ll miss her, though he’s not seen much of her since his arm healed. “Just a little heartsick, Miranda. I’m fine. Your leeches can stay in that terrifying collection you call medicine,” he waves negligently at her boxes.

  
“It’s Bull, isn’t it?” Dorian can’t help but smile again. Bull gets hurt most out of all of them, but his penchant for letting his battle wounds scar had caused some tension between the warrior and his surgeon, but it was a friendly battle. Dorian privately thought that if Bull weren’t being kept occupied by Adaar and himself, it might have developed into more between them. He just shakes his head.

  
“I’ll be returning to Tevinter for a time, so technically, it’s me.” He looks down at his hands, not wanting to see pity or anger.

  
He sees neither. Instead, before he lifts his head, Miranda is hugging him. “I’ll just assume you’ve already been told you’re an idiot?”

  
Dorian laughs. “From several sources, yes.” He hugs back.

  
Miranda pulls back, looking him in the eye. “You’re coming back, though, right?”

  
He doesn’t let himself pause before nodding. “Of course. I just owe my father a debt. I need to pay it before I can come back for good.”

  
“Good,” she smirks, taking his face in her hands the way he’s seen the servants do with their children back home. “I’d better still be around to dance at your wedding when you stop being stubborn and let them make an honest man of you.”

  
Dorian rolls his eyes. Bull had clearly confided in her about the nonexistent prospect of their marriage. “You’ll be the third to know,” he says sardonically.

  
She slaps his cheek, less gently than is probably warranted by the motherly gesture. “You’re a stubborn idiot,” she sighs, “but you’re our stubborn idiot. You better come back hale and hearty or I will find an excuse to put you in medical quarantine,” she glares at him terrifyingly, “On bedrest with no books.”

  
It’s a threat Dorian has heard before. He pretends to shudder. “Why didn’t we just send you against Corypheus, again? You’re certainly evil enough to have given him a run for his money,” he sasses her.

  
She slaps his shoulder and immediately pulls him into another hug. “I’ll be coming with those boys of yours to drag you home if you don’t come back when you’re supposed to. I’ll make sure you regret making me get sand in my boots.” Dorian smiles and kisses her forehead, and she lets him go. “Now help me get these crates into the wagon so we can get away from these ruins once and for all.” She turns to lift a crate and surveys the ruins with a shudder. “I’ll be glad to get shut of this place once and for all.”

  
Dorian helps with the crates and can’t help but feel ambivalent. The Breach had given him everything. Its closing was taking everything back again. He did his best to shake it off.

  
When Miranda’s wagon was loaded, Dorian made his way back toward the camp. Adaar was sitting by the fire, shirtless. It was a little unusual for him to be in camp not entirely dressed, unlike Bull who rarely wore more than leather strapping above the waist when not in battle. He’s sitting on a log by the fire, eating camp stew with some kind of nutty bread. Dorian sits gingerly next to him. Adaar offers him a hunk of bread and holds out his plate for Dorian to eat from.

  
It occurs to Dorian what a strange intimacy it is that they have.

  
He takes the bread, rips off a piece and dips it in the stew. He supposes there isn’t a need to speak. Adaar can only ask him to stay, and he can only say no. He decides to pretend everything is fine until it isn’t and leans slightly into Adaar as if it were any other morning in camp. The effect is furthered when Bull arrives, takes the plate from Adaar to put more stew on it and sits on the ground facing them with his own hunk of bread. The fresh stew is hotter, and tastes better, and Dorian eats well. His chest still hurts, but the urgency of the pain is slightly lessened. He puts his head on Adaar’s shoulder and is rewarded with a kiss pressed into his hair. He decides he likes the quiet.

  
***

  
Camp gets packed swiftly. Spirits are high. Some of the soldiers are singing. Dorian decides he’s too tired to ride and grabs some bedding from a crate, making his way to Miranda’s wagon. “Would it be all right if I rode with you?” he asks.

  
Miranda shakes her head at him. “That’s a stupid question. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart type with those books of yours?” She gestures to the back of the wagon. The crates have been tied to the sides, leaving an open space in the middle, filled with bedding. It’s just big enough for him, but it looks positively comfortable. Dorian doesn’t move for a moment. Miranda laughs at him. “Close your mouth before something flies in there. And get in before I decide to leave without you,”  
Dorian does as directed by the surgeon, making sure she sees him roll his eyes at her empty threat. There’s enough bedding that he barely feels the bumps in the road and is swiftly asleep.

  
He awakes just before sunset and climbs into the wagon seat next to Miranda. “Did I miss anything important?”

  
Miranda looks around, ensuring she won’t be overheard. They’re nearing the bridge to Skyhold, though, and many of the soldiers have ridden ahead. Dorian thinks he might hear music. The celebrations have already begun. The thought makes him unhappy. He feels guilty for not wanting to celebrate. He supposes he’ll just have to drink enough to fake it. When Miranda is assured of relatively privacy, she leans toward him, speaking quietly. “Solas disappeared right after the battle. No one saw him in camp last night, and he’s not with us,” she murmurs. “The Inquisitor is worried.”

  
Dorian thinks about Solas’s friend Wisdom and how he’d disappeared after her death. “I’ll speak to him when we stop. I think it may just be how our friend manages strong emotions. He came back to Skyhold on his own the once.”

  
Miranda smiles, clearly relieved. “Hope you're right. Your man seemed pretty upset.”

  
“It’s not like anyone can hide from Leliana for long anyway,” Dorian grins.

  
“The Inquisitor should threaten to send her after you. I’m sure that would make your father more reasonable,” Miranda replies smiling back.

  
Dorian shudders. “There’s a terrifying thought. Like having two wolves fighting over you. When they’re done savaging each other, I’d be next.”

  
Miranda laughs at him. “Leliana adores you, and you know it.”

  
Dorian raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m not entirely certain I would state it that strongly. I’m fairly certain barely tolerates would be more accurate.”

  
The look Miranda turns on him is genuinely surprised. “Are you really not aware enough to know?”

  
“I know she threatened to slit my throat when she learned I was returning to Tevinter,” Dorian replies, feeling reasonable.

  
“And if she wanted you gone, how is that the reaction she would have?” Miranda replies, unbothered. “You spend too much time with your nose in a book, handsome. You’re Skyhold’s darling son. Half the courtiers want to be you, the rest want to ravish you. Your position might create jealousy if you weren’t so kind and helpful. Everyone knows what you did for Krem. And you come to tell me you’re leaving like I haven’t known for weeks. You didn't tell Krem’s parents not to talk about it. They’ve sung your praises to everyone who would listen. How could you not notice?”

  
“...I didn’t think it was that important,” Dorian replies, stunned.

  
“And what you did for Blackwall? He has to be drunk to talk about it, but he told Cabot you saved his life. He thought he’d lost everything by coming clean, and you became his friend. People were so busy trying to curry your favor, they couldn’t shun him if you didn’t,” the exasperation in Miranda’s voice is increasing with nearly every breath, and Dorian can’t do anything but stare at her stupidly. “And the boy, Cole? People would have treated him like a demon if not for you. How many times _have_  you been hit in the head, Pavus? Hmm?” Miranda grabs his head, peering into his eyes, looking for evidence of injury.

  
“I treated them the way I treat my friends,” Dorian insists. “Because they _are_  my friends.”

  
“And you wonder why everyone else is tripping over themselves trying to be your friend?” Miranda shakes her head at him again. “You’re an idiot.” They’re halfway across the bridge. “Even Madame de Fer cares for you, and from what I can tell she looks down her nose at everyone. The Inquisitor included.”

  
_I am not so quick to judge, darling. See that you give me no reason to feel otherwise._  Dorian wonders if that was a friendly gesture and not the warning he’d interpreted it as. “I didn’t know.”

  
“Idiot.” She shoves his shoulder a little. “Skyhold will be a less pleasant place without you. For everyone. So for all our sakes, come back.”

  
The applause starts before they’re even through the gate. More of the soldiers have arrived. They take the horses. Bull comes to help him down as Adaar is pulled toward the stairs. They join the crowd as Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana bow formally to Adaar before Cullen clasps his hand and Josephine hugs him. The crowd surges. Adaar turns and lifts his hands. Everyone cheers. Dorian could swear it’s loud enough to shake the stone. Adaar bows to the crowd, and the cheers become a roar. Dorian pats Bull’s arm and tries to pull away, but Bull won’t let him. He finds himself led to Bull’s room.

  
“I take it Adaar won’t be joining us?” He sighs. He sounds like a petulant child, even to himself.

  
Bull pulls him close and kisses him. “He’ll know to look for us here, if he can break away.” He unties Adaar’s shirt at his waist, grinning a little when he sees how big it is. He pulls it over Dorian’s head. Dorian kicks off his own boots and skins his pants down after them. His shortclothes are a bit plainer than the ones Bull likes, but they’re still making Bull’s eye darken as he watches, so Dorian leaves them on. He kicks his clothes aside and stands while Bull watches him.

  
He lets Bull look for a while before speaking up. “Will you do something for me, Carissmus?”

  
Bull is surprised by the unusual candor. “Anything, Kadan.”

  
“I don’t want to think about going home, tonight.” The words leave a bad taste in his mouth. “Tell me I can’t.” He looks at Bull. He knows he’s pleading and he doesn’t care. “Mean it.”

  
Bull breathes, and licks his lips, clearly considering Dorian’s offer. Dorian’s stomach churns. He wants to take it back. He’s absurdly terrified that Bull will turn him down. But then Bull gently puts a huge hand in the middle of his chest and slowly walks him back until he’s pressed against the wall. He leans in until his lips are just out of reach of a kiss. Dorian aches for it, the knot in his chest tightening. But he knows better. He waits. “What’s your watchword?” Bull asks, softly, his lips brushing against Dorian’s when they move.

  
The question means yes, Bull is going to try to give Dorian what he needs. He trembles. “Katoh,” he breathes, and Bull claims his mouth. Dorian moans softly.

Bull’s fingers curl under his chin, his thumb now caressing Dorian’s bottom lip. Dorian flashes to them in a tent in the Exalted Plains. Bull grins, clearly thinking the same kind of thoughts and Dorian focuses on his teeth, forgetting to breathe. “Tonight will be a good night to try and make you scream. The party will be too loud for anyone to hear you.” He leans in to kiss the sharp edge of Dorian’s jaw. He hasn’t shaved in several days. Bull nuzzles into the stubble.  
Dorian’s chest hurts. How will he learn to live without this? He says, “Please,” instead. His voice breaks on the word and it sounds more beseeching than he had intended. He can’t bring himself to care.

  
Bull tugs down his underwear, leaving them around Dorian’s ankles. His big, warm hands slide up Dorian’s thighs. They feel almost hot compared to the cold stone at his back. He can feel the hair on his legs and belly stand on end in anticipation. He presses his fingers to the stone and takes an unsteady breath. Bull’s thumbs, calloused and rough, brush against the softest skin on the inside of his thighs. He wants to spread his legs, but he’s hobbled by his short clothes. He looks down, intending to gripe at Bull to fix it, but the way Bull is looking at him scares him a little. It’s hungry, with an edge of desperation. Probably the result of his impending departure. Dorian’s stomach flips. “Say something?” he pleads.

  
“The underwear are on purpose,” Bull says like he read Dorian’s mind. “You don’t really like to be restricted. It annoys you. You want to open up as far as you intend to right at the beginning, so you can hold the line until it’s over. So you don’t ever show something unintended.” Bull’s voice is as soft and gentle as his words are devastating. His fingers haven’t stopped moving, and it feels a little like they’ve gone right through the skin to stroke his nerves directly. His cock is filling inches from the mouth that is flaying his desires open so he has to look at them. Proof that Bull has hit his mark. It’s mortifying. He can feel the blush creeping up his chest and neck. It makes him harder. Bull smiles up at him, but there’s no edge to it. He loves Dorian, and is happy to be giving him what he needs. Dorian starts to tremble, and Bull's hands stroke up and down his thighs, comforting. “But that little restriction, a little annoyance. It’s like the chink in your armor. Keeps you from opening up as much as you want. Makes you fight against your own defenses to open up more. Lets me take you all the way to where you need to go.” His thumbs move up to the fragile skin at the crease of Dorian’s thigh and stroke up to his hipbones, but the skin between his legs is so sensitized it now throbs with every other touch. He’s hard enough now that Bull’s breath washing over his cock is nearly unbearable. “I know what you want right now, but we have all night. Is there something specific you want to talk to me about other than that?” He pins Dorian’s hips to the wall and nuzzles his hip, brushing stubble over the skin and making him shiver.

  
“Worried I’ll forget you while I’m gone?” Dorian asks, though the sardonic effect he was going for is somewhat diluted by his inability to catch his breath.  
Bull ignores the bait by just answering the question. “A little. You might meet a handsome magister.” His lips brush over Dorian’s thighs, one and then the other. He squirms. “The pretty ones are always trouble.”

  
Dorian laughs breathlessly at the first words he ever heard Bull speak. “I’m not nearly so much trouble as Corypheus. Are you trying to tell me was was pretti-” The quip ends on the high whine that escapes him when Bull’s teeth graze his thigh. He can’t spread his legs far enough for the spot he wants to be accessible, but Bull’s mouth is so close. He feels a prickle of sweat in the small of his back. He bends his knees and spreads them, trying to ignore the burn the position creates in his thighs.

  
Bull raises an eyebrow at him. “This would be clever except for the part where I’m going to make you hold that position, now.”

  
Dorian groans. “You’re cruel,” he lies.

  
Bull chuckles softly and gently drags his fingertips down the already sensitive insides of his thighs. Spreading them stretches his skin tighter across the muscle, and the sensation is much more intense. He arches, gasping. Bull murmurs encouragingly and leans in, closing his teeth gently on the skin of Dorian’s thigh. Dorian can’t help but tense a little in anticipation. He teeters, off-balance, and grabs Bull’s horns for support. “Hold on,” Bull chuckles, helping Dorian stand upright and then walking them back toward the bed. “Wouldn’t want you to get hurt unintentionally, now,” he grins at Dorian.

  
Dorian leans up to kiss him. “You could get on with doing it purposefully any time now,” Dorian says, hands on his hips, pretending to be more exasperated that he is. Bull laughs at him and tumbles them both into the bed. They land with Dorian under Bull, Bull’s leg thrown across Dorian’s hip. Bull smiling down at him makes his chest ache. “Kiss me?” he asks. Bull’s smile gets softer, the crinkles around his eyes going deeper as he bends his head to comply. He kisses Dorian softly, gently, making his lips tingle.

  
“I like that you’re asking for things,” Bull murmurs kissing him again.

  
Dorian sighs. “I suppose I’ve let my situation make me a little greedy,” he replies ruefully.

  
Bull kisses him more deeply. “I like you greedy.”

  
Dorian licks his lips. “Well, then. I’m still waiting.”

  
Bull laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appear to have inadvertently not told the truth. I got to a good spot to stop last night and spent this morning editing because I couldn't sleep, so I'm going to give y'all this to try and pump you (and myself) up for the actual last chapter which will hopefully be by Mondayish? Maybe Tuesday if I'm really struggling. Y'all have stuck with me for a year or so now. I think that makes us friends. I'm grateful. Thank you.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be more porn here, but truthfully Dorian in my head was just too unhappy. Sorry about that. That is also why it's late, I was trying to make it work, and it just wasn't. But here it is. The last chapter. I can't believe it.
> 
> There's still a sequel, it's totally a thing that is happening. Probably in about a month or so.
> 
> I can't say goodbye, I might cry. So this is just see you later. Thank you.

They stay like that a long time, kissing until Dorian falls asleep. He hears Bull say, “Hey, Boss,” his usual greeting for Adaar. He’s not sure if he’s dreaming or just waking up for a moment, disoriented. His head is on Bull’s chest, and he doesn’t remember how it got there. Then he feels Adaar slide into the bed beside them, the warmth of him. He takes Dorian’s hand and kisses it, and Dorian opens his eyes. He can just make out Adaar in the soft darkness of the room. The moon is almost full, and there are fires atop the towers.

  
Adaar smiles when he opens his eyes. “Missed you,” he says like Dorian had gone somewhere. Dorian leans in to kiss him anyway.

  
There’s still music coming from outside. “Josie covering for you?”

  
Adaar shrugs, one arm. “I just fought Corypheus. Clearly I’m exhausted,” he grins.

  
Dorian rolls his eyes. “Are you staying?”

Adaar nods. “They can’t make any demands of me unless they need another breach closed and we didn’t leave any open, Though I do owe Josephine attendance at her party tomorrow, but I’m pretty sure you both have to be there too.”

“Well, far be it from me to deny a party my presence.” That makes even Bull laugh.

“We could go back to your room, Boss. We have supplies there,” Bull says. There’s something about the way he says supplies that makes Dorian’s eyes narrow, but Adaar demurs. 

“I was thinking maybe after the party. If I’m not where they can find me, they’ll get used to not having me at their beck and call faster. Leliana will send us a raven if there’s a real emergency,” he yawns.

“Sleep first,” Dorian says. It’s just like Adaar to make his very real exhaustion into a joke.

He nods. “Sleep first,” he replies agreeably, pressing closer.

Dorian reaches down to adjust the blanket so it covers his shoulder, and Adaar sighs happily and closes his eyes. Dorian watches him a long time before he’s able to go back to sleep himself.

***

Dorian wakes up alone in the bed, but there’s a note near his hand.

> _Bull is gathering breakfast, and I’m giving Josie last-minute Inquisitorial input on her party. Grab your party clothes and meet us in my quarters when you wake up._  
>  _Bull says I should write, “love and kisses on all your pink bits.”_  
>  _~ Adaar_

Dorian smiles at Adaar’s sprawling, loopy script. He takes his time pulling his clothes on, stretching and yawning before he makes his way to his quarters. He slips Adaar’s note into his journal and takes a moment to wash and put on robes that do not have dust on them from the journey home. He catches on the word, not for the first time. He wonders if Tevinter has changed at all in the time he’s been gone. It’s been years. He shoves the unwelcome thoughts aside and grabs his best robe, the blue one that Bull especially likes and the matching smallclothes. He tucks them into a rucksack, along with the book he’s reading, just in case.

As he steps into the hall, empty except for those preparing it for the party, a serving girl carrying a basket of linens squeals. Dorian steps quickly to one side, and turns to ask the girl precisely what she saw, but before he can speak, she’s hugging him. He remembers her. She had worked as a messenger but had taken sick. He’d seen her with Miranda often. She seems better now. “Are you all right?” he asks, patting her back awkwardly, trying not to drop his bag.

“You were at the battle with the Evil One, weren’t you?” she says breathlessly.

“Ah... yes?” Dorian replies, confused.

She lets go, kissing him on both cheeks. “Thank you! Thank you!” She spins to gather up the laundry she dropped and flits away, leaving Dorian blushing and bewildered in the hall. Josephine is smiling at him from where she stands with her clipboard and notes organizing the chaos. Dorian tries to slink past her, but she catches him by the elbow and kisses his blushing cheek before letting him continue on his way. And just as he thinks he’s going to escape all the attention, he runs into Harritt the blacksmith, apparently about to repair the chandelier. 

He harrumphs at Dorian much like he had done Dorian’s first day in Haven. “Pavus,” he says, sticking his hand out, “never had much use for Tevinters, but you’ve been a decent sort. Heard you have to leave. Sorry to see you go.”

“I...” Dorian simply can’t think of what to say. “Thank you.” He shakes Harritt’s outstretched hand.

Fortunately, that seems to be enough. Harritt nods and goes back to work. Dorian escapes into the stairway, unused to being the center of so much positive attention. He composes himself before continuing. The room looks empty, but Dorian can hear voices coming from the balcony. He hangs his robes up in Adaar’s wardrobe, hoping they’ll be less wrinkled later. He drops his bag on a chair nearby and goes out. Adaar and Bull both smile at him. Bull pours him a glass of some new Orlesian kind of wine. It bubbles, but it’s crisp and sweet. Dorian decides he likes it.

“Took you long enough,” Bull teases, refilling Dorian’s glass.

“I was passing through the hall, and a serving girl saw me and squealed,” Dorian gestures with his glass. “Actually squealed. Dropped her laundry and everything.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Such a mess.” He re-enacts the scene from downstairs, ending with, “She hugged me. Hugged. Me. I blame your influence.” He points accusingly at Adaar, who laughs.

“Admit it, you’re having a ball.”

Dorian laughs. “I don't trust camaraderie. All these people smiling, giving me good wine; it’s unnatural.” He’s only mostly sarcastic. “Mind you, I don’t exactly hate the idea of being the ‘good Tevinter.’ Harritt called me that. The blacksmith who doesn’t like anyone.” Dorian lets his expression convey how unnerving he found the experience.

Bull tops off his glass again, and Dorian starts to relax a bit. “You’re here with us now," he reminds Dorian in his most soothing voice. Dorian leans back into him, and Bull smiles down at him. He’s not quite tipsy, but the wine does have him feeling warm and pliable. He smiles back. “We’re going to take care of you if you let us.”

Dorian nods his assent. He wants everything they want to give him before it’s gone. He just keeps leaning, looking up at Bull and occasionally sipping his wine. The sun is bright, and the scar in the sky where the breach used to be is just a sparkle in the air. Dorian lets his mind go blank. Adaar kisses him and goes inside, but no one tells him to move, so he stays with Bull. Bull takes his empty glass and leads him back inside. 

Adaar is pouring buckets of water into a huge copper tub that stands where his desk used to be. How did he not see this when he came in? He must have been very distracted indeed. Dorian doesn’t realize his mouth is hanging open until Adaar laughs and gently taps his chin to close it. “A gift from Celene. She’s remodeling and intends to have her metals in silver tone.” He touches a crystal, and it glows, briefly. “It’ll be a few minutes,” he says, pulling Dorian close and unbuckling his robes.

“You would be getting this just as I’m leaving,” Dorian gripes, but without heat. Bathing is something much more common in Tevinter, so it’s unlikely it’s the bathtub he’ll miss. He dabbles his fingers in the water, and it is warm. Bull pulls his robes from him once Adaar has unfastened them. He tosses them over the chair with Dorian’s bag on it. Adaar sits him on the edge of the tub and pulls his boots off, while Bull kicks off his own, and skins out of his pants. Dorian’s smallclothes are tossed to one side.

Bull slides into the tub and Adaar helps Dorian in. He leans back against Bull with a contented sigh and watches Adaar watch them as he gets undressed himself. Just having Adaar’s eyes on him makes Dorian’s cock twitch and start to fill. Adaar sits opposite them, between Bull’s feet. The tub is big enough that Bull only has to bend his knees a little, and Dorian feels cradled but not cramped. Maybe he will miss the tub, after all. Adaar soaps his hands and begins washing Dorian’s feet, almost massaging them, thumbs pressing hard into the ball of his foot. Dorian groans and feels even more tension slipping away from him. Bull starts giving his hands the same treatment, working his way up Dorian’s arms, washing and massaging. Dorian doesn’t try to control anything, just relaxes and lets Adaar and Bull so as they wish.

He ends up with his arms looped behind Bull’s neck and his legs over the sides of the tub. Bull is absently toying with his nipples, watching Adaar rub the tension out of Dorian’s thighs. Between the exposed position and the teasing Dorian is half hard, but Adaar ignores his cock in favor of massaging his other thigh, his thumbs pressing gently into muscle, soothing away tension. Dorian struggles to keep his breathing smooth and even when Adaar’s thumbs stroke firmly up the insides of his thighs.

“Time to get out, “ Adaar murmurs. Dorian considers protesting, but he doesn’t. They promised to take care of him. He trusts them. He makes and agreeable noise without opening his eyes.

“Still with us, Kadan?” Bull murmurs. Dorian nods. He feels weak, like he’s been on a three-day bender and is just now recovering, but not bad.

They all manage to get out of the tub. He lets himself be passed gently between Bull and Adaar as they dry him and then themselves.

Adaar leads him to the couch. He’s cradled between the two of them again. His head in Adaar’s lap, his legs thrown over Bull’s. They take turns feeding him roasted meat and peeled grapes and nutty bread dipped in honey. Adaar cradles his head, lifting him so he can sip more wine. Dorian is practically a puddle of pleasured mage when a raven lands on the balustrade behind them. 

Adaar makes a disgusted noise. “Dorian, I think we should get dressed. Josephine has been trying to keep the man your father sent away, but he’s demanding to see you.”

Dorian heaves a disgusted sigh. His rebellious streak asserts itself. “You can put on clothes if you like, Amatus. I intend to stay exactly as I am. He knows quite well we’re not supposed to leave until morning.” 

Bull chuckles. “I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist, Kadan.”

Dorian smiles indulgently. “Only when it gets my point across, Carissmus. Besides, I’m quite comfortable and don’t really care to be disturbed.”

Adaar feeds him another grape. Dorian has barely finished chewing when his father’s servant storms up the stairs in an officious huff. The soldier assigned to him stops at the top of the stairs and remains at attention. It’s not common for them to be in the Inquisitor’s quarters. Dorian is genuinely sorry for the man’s discomfort. He’d forgotten in his pique.

The second man strode into the room as if he were Halward Pavus himself. But Dorian had the power in this place and at this moment. Braced between his lovers, he allowed himself to sprawl negligently, doing nothing to hide the intimacy of the situation. Bull picks up the cue first, massaging Dorian’s leg like Adaar had in the bath. It only took Adaar a beat longer. His fingers stroked Dorian’s hair, twisting it into curls and combing through it. 

Dorian waited until the man darkened to a third shade of red, too shocked to speak, before he began speaking. “Amatus, Carrissmus, this is Silus Brann, flunky to my illustrious father.” He takes a long, rude slurp from a glass of wine on the table. “Flunky, you may address my companions a The Iron Bull, leader of the Chargers, of the cohort that defeated Corypheus,” Dorian pauses to motion to Bull and slurp from his wine again. “And this is His Worship the Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, Architect of Corypheus’s defeat.” Dorian smiles up at Adaar, who makes a kissing face in return.

Brann bows low immediately, trying to control what Dorian hopes is nigh apoplexy over the situation. Adaar gives Dorian another grape while they wait. When Dorian meets his eyes, they’re twinkling with ill-repressed amusement. Dorian smirks and Bull chuckles.

Silus finally pulls himself together and stands, but keeps his head bowed and his eyes on his feet. “Speak, flunky. As you might be able to see if your head wasn’t up my arse, my time has better occupations.”

“Dorian - “ Silus begins, but Dorian is in a mood.

He interrupts. “Excuse me?”

He can see Silus viciously bite the inside of his cheek to try and control his temper before he speaks. “Ser Pavus, it would be best if we left before the sun gets too high. We could reach an inn shortly after dusk if we leave presently.”

“I know you were told that I would be taking a day to say goodbye, Silus. I know because the Spymaster is my friend, and her people are watching your communications. You don’t have any power here. You cannot make me leave.” Dorian pauses, purposefully relaxing the muscle in his jaw, jumping with the tension caused by his anger. “I am however an honorable man. I will keep my promise. But you have ruined what was gearing up to be a very satisfying morning. So go back to your room and stay there until I come and fetch you in the morning. He sits up, aided by Bull. “Pardon me, recruit?” he calls to the soldier.

“Aedan, Ser.” The recruit keeps his eyes straight ahead. 

Dorian admires his fortitude. “Ser Aedan,” Dorian smiles encouragingly, in case he can see. “I am very sorry for the scene, but I would greatly appreciate if you took this man back to his room and ensured that he stayed there. If he resists you, put him in the stocks and let Krem know he’s fair game. For you too. The cook should have plenty of rotten things to pelt him with, with all the preparations for the party. Hopefully, he’s not so stupid as to make you any angrier than you must already be.”

Ser Aedan is still looking straight ahead, but he’s grinning. “I would hope so, Ser.”

“Thank you, Ser Aedan. I owe you a tankard,” Dorian inclines his head in respect. Silus stomps down the stairs and Ser Aedan salutes and follows him.  
Dorians sighs and leans back into Adaar and sighs. Bull rubs his leg soothingly, trying to take the sting from his question. “You gonna be paying for that on the Tevinter side of the border?”

“I doubt I’m intended to make it that far. His insistence on leaving today likely means there’s a schedule we need to keep. The only possible appointment I could have to keep this quickly...” Dorian trails off, not willing to finish the sentence. He wants to believe his father isn’t responsible for this, that some other party has bought Silas’s loyalty, but he truthfully can’t be certain. “Better a dead son than a degenerate. Halward could even spin it that my time here was redemption, that I was coming home to marry and produce an Archon for them.” Dorian can feel his face twist in disgust. “That only works if I’m dead before I can speak in my own defense.”

“If that’s true, you’re not leaving Skyhold,” Adaar says. “Death is permanent. That’s far and beyond what your agreement with your father allows.”  
Dorian feels a glimmer of hope for the first time in weeks. “It is.” He breathes, his chest letting go of enough tightness that it almost doesn’t hurt.

***

The rest of the morning is spent sending ravens back and forth with Leliana, having Silus moved to the cells under Skyhold and questioned, and penning a letter to his father. Bull takes over when Dorian’s hands shake too much to write. He paces as he dictates at first. He’s so angry that the pacing gets more and more agitated. He’s shouting, and Bull has stopped writing. Adaar wraps his arms around Dorian, pinning his arms to his sides, and Dorian yells. He screams. He pours all his rage at this fresh betrayal into a roar he’s sure rattles every window in the castle. He screams until his legs give out, and Adaar lowers them both gently to the floor, and when Adaar lets go, he falls forward into Bull’s arms, sobbing.

Bull lifts him, and they move to the bed. Adaar and Bull curl around him and trade between soft kisses on his face and head and singing or murmuring sweet nothings into his hair. Eventually, he calms enough to wonder aloud, “Do you think this is some sort of punishment for leaving Tevinter instead of trying to change it?”

Bull winces at the question but Adaar just shakes his head. “If you think I’m really the Herald of Andraste, and that the Maker meant for us to fight side by side, then he also meant for the three of us to love each other, because I couldn’t have done it without you.” Adaar’s hand curls around the back of Dorian’s neck and he relaxes. “Your father’s just an ass,”

Dorian can’t help but chuckle. Adaar always seems to know the right words.

“Besides,” Bull chimes in, kissing Dorian between his shoulder blades, “we won. That makes us the heroes. Heroes always have to have a tragic backstory. Just ask Varric.”

Dorian laughs, still a little hysterical, but better. “I need...” he can’t finish the sentence.

“A nap,” Bull says, yawning. He turns onto his back, settling his horns onto the pillows, and pats his chest. And yeah, Dorian’s actually exhausted. He sprawls onto Bull, who curls an arm around his waist. Adaar presses close on the other side, and Bull curls his other arm around Adaar’s shoulders.

Dorian is tense and anxious, but the warmth and closeness slowly relax him. The thought that Skyhold will remain home a while longer is comforting enough to bear away the last of his resistance, and he sleeps.


	35. Links

Just posting to let you know there's more in this universe.

[Closing the Rifts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6462841) are a bunch of timestamps for things I couldn't write from Dorian's POV.

 

[Canticle of Silence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6538615) is the epilogue.

 

I'm baaaaaack. :D 

 

 


End file.
